From the Ashes
by ph0biafied
Summary: AU. Maggie is a homicide detective with a dark past, and when she loses her father she loses everything. Seeking a fresh start in a new place, she finds herself partnered up with the surly, justice-obsessed Dean Ambrose. The two of them become entangled in an all consuming race to catch a serial killer who targets only the most innocent of victims. Dean Ambrose/OC (COMPLETE)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Although I'm not entirely new to fanfiction, this is the first thing I've written in a looooong time, so I hope that you all, dear readers, find this story as fascinating as I do. I have big plans for this one.

Disclaimer: I most definitely do not own WWE or any of its characters. In fact, I own little to nothing at all, so it wouldn't be worth it to sue me anyway. :P

* * *

Chapter 1: A Fistful of Dirt

Magnolia Michaels kept her eyes glued to the coffin in front of her, and the rest of the world seemed to melt away. She didn't hear the eulogy, or the sobs of her fellow mourners, or even the words of comfort that were muttered to her throughout the service. All she could see was the only true father she had ever known, stuffed in a satin lined box, his blue eyes forever closed… She had her own amber eyes hidden behind an over-sized pair of sunglasses, a thin layer of protection to hide her raw emotions from the world around her. Yet as the coffin began its slow descent into the earth she could not stop the tears any longer and they streamed endlessly down her cheeks as she stood in somber silence.

With a deep breath she managed to will herself forward and plunged both her hands into the loose, cold earth. As she rose to her feet again she held her hands forward, letting the small pile of dirt filter slowly through her fingertips onto the black coffin below. It was the last thing she could ever do for her father. Having accomplished her task, she wiped furiously at the tears tracking down her face, unmindful of her dirty hands and the muddy streaks she had left behind on her cheeks.

All at once the world seemed to flood back to her and suddenly there was too much noise. The preacher droned on with the end of his sermon as if he were on autopilot while the mourners themselves sobbed openly, children sniffling into their mother's skirts. Over it all, the sounds of the nearby highway could be heard and Magnolia felt the desperate urge to be gone from this place. Her sorrow weighing heavily in her heart, she turned abruptly and made a beeline for her car. She was eager to leave the grave behind and curl up in the privacy of her own apartment where no one could watch her cry.

* * *

Hunter Hearst Helmsley was late for the funeral, having caught a last minute flight to San Francisco the moment word had reached him of his old partner's death. Shawn Michaels had been his best friend for years, and no amount of flight delays or rush hour traffic could have stopped him from making it. As it was, he had barely found parking and had to jog three blocks to make it when he did. Tugging at the sleeves of his slightly too-small funeral suit, he discreetly found a place near the back and joined the mourners.

Immediately he became lost in his own reflections, remembering the time spent with Shawn as his partner, two detectives out to clean up San Francisco. It brought a wry smile to his face and he felt his eyes watering for the umpteenth time that day. He would have stayed lost in his memories for much longer had he not noticed the lone woman who stepped up as the coffin was being lowered into the ground. She wore shades to hide her eyes, but there was no mistaking his best friend's adopted daughter.

Her chestnut hair was worn in a long braid, swept over her shoulder and reaching nearly to her waist. She wore a sharp black pantsuit - he noted with compassion that it had probably been a last minute purchase - and black flats. Sensible shoes for walking in a graveyard… he had noticed several women in heels struggling to find good footing on the soft earth. She had grown so much, and he realized with shock that the last time he had seen her she was fresh out of high school and joining the police academy. Yet here was a grown woman, broken with the loss of her father and suddenly alone in the world.

Just as he felt a wave of remorse for his own absence from so much of her life she made an abrupt about face and began walking quickly back toward the road. With one final glance toward the grave of his best friend he made the decision to go after her, surprised at how much he had to hurry to catch up. Apparently she was serious about taking off.

"Maggie!" he cried out just as she reached her vehicle, determined to not let her leave without making some kind of contact. Sure enough, she heard him and turned around, her hand resting lightly on the door to her old black buick. He wondered briefly if she would recognize him, but then she removed her shades and the answer was evident in her watery eyes. Without thought he wrapped her small frame in a tight hug and she pressed her face into his chest, weeping in silence. "I'm so sorry…" he trailed off, knowing that no words of comfort could truly make her feel better.

Slowly she broke the embrace and took a step back, her breathing hitched and shaky. As she lifted her eyes to meet his he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the dirt smudges from her cheeks. "It's been a long time…" he began, "and I'm sorry about that."

She took a deep breath and he could see her struggling to regain her composure. When she spoke, her voice was clear and strong. "I understand, Hunter… Dad always knew you were there for us, he – he understood why you moved away."

Hunter nodded, trying not to feel put out because the last time he had seen her he had still been _Uncle_ Hunter. She was a grown woman now, but he could still clearly remember when he had first met her. He could still see the terrified eleven year old, and the hell she had lived through until Shawn and himself had found her, rescued her. Suddenly he shook his head to clear those awful memories. "Look, I'm always gonna feel like I should have been here more, but at least I can try to make it up to you now –"

Abruptly she frowned, "You don't owe me anything, Hunter. You and Dad were the best family I ever could have asked for." She reached out to give his hand a tender squeeze, and then replaced her sunglasses and climbed into her car. He reached to stop the door before she could close it and drive away.

"Okay, okay…" he began, wanting desperately to connect with her again and let her know she didn't have to be alone. "Maggie, the guys at the station, when they let me know about Shawn…" His voice broke and he took a moment before continuing, "They also let me know that you quit. I'm not going to give you a lecture or anything, but I would like to give you a job."

Reaching for his wallet, he quickly pulled out a card and passed it to her. "That has my home and my work number on it. I'm not asking you to make any decisions right away, but…" He glanced around them, taking a deep breath of the ocean air and knowing that, for him, it would always conjure sad memories. "If you want a change of scenery, I know you're a damn good detective and you'll always be welcome in my department."

She shook her head, "Hunter-" she began, but he raised his large hand to cut her off.

"Just think about it, okay? I know you need some time, and I know you can take care of yourself. You've had a hard life, kid. It's your choice, I just… wanted to give you the option."

With a nod, Maggie took the card and slipped it into her purse. She offered him one final smile, and he could see the warmth as well as the heartbreak in it, before she drove away. He stared after the car long after it had disappeared into the distance, wondering if he would hear from her and hoping fervently that he would.

* * *

3 Weeks Later

_She could hear the rain. It gave her some small comfort, though she had been plunged into darkness for far too many hours to count. Had it been days already? She shrunk further into herself in the corner of the room, her back against the cold cement, and listened to the sound of the rain. Though she tried to clear her mind, she was dimly aware of the metal shackles around her ankles, for every time she moved she heard the heavy chains slither across the floor._

_For a while she had done nothing but cry and scream and strain to free herself, the metal shackles biting painfully into her flesh. But then had come the punishment, and the horrific realization that she may never escape this place. She licked her chapped and cracked lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper, and bitterly wished for a drink of water that may never come. But still she listened to the rain..._

_Then came the slow grinding sound of metal on metal, and she knew that the lock to her prison was being turned. She watched with terror as the heavy door swung slowly open, allowing in just enough light for her to clearly see her captor, grinning wickedly in anticipation as he slowly descended the stairs. And though she thought she had no tears left in her, they began to fall again and she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice hoarse and foreign sounding. But no amount of screaming would help her now, as his heavy footfalls drew nearer and he reached his filthy hands toward her. His fingernails, broken and caked with grime, traced almost gentle patterns on the soles of her feet and she kicked at him, her sobs turning to shrieks as she lost herself to panic. He uttered a single, satisfied sounding laugh and seized her by the ankles–_

With a cry, Maggie jolted awake, pushing her sweat soaked bangs from her forehead and struggling to calm herself down. At first she recoiled at her unfamiliar surroundings before gradually remembering that she was spending the night in a hotel. She pushed herself out of bed with disgust, willing away the memories that haunted her nightmares and gave her so many sleepless nights. Her hand reached suddenly for the phone, but she set it back down when she remembered with a jolt of sorrow that the man she wanted to call was gone… she would never hear his voice again.

Biting her lower lip, she forced down the sobs that threatened to overtake her and rose on shaky legs to walk to the bathroom, where she took appraisal of herself in the mirror. Her face and hair were a sweaty mess, so she splashed herself down with the coldest water the tap could produce. After drying herself off with a soft white towel she took a deep breath and faced her reflection again. The dark circles under her wide amber eyes had been ever-present since Shawn died, and she had grown used to the thought that she may never sleep well again.

Her long wavy hair had started to come loose from its braid and she roughly pulled it out, running her fingers through the chestnut locks in lieu of a brush since she didn't feel like digging through her suitcase. Her complexion was a little too pale, and the small freckles that lightly dusted her nose and cheeks stood out in sharp contrast. "What am I doing?" She asked herself, turning away from the reflection and returning to sit on the hotel bed. The digital clock read 4:14 AM, so she decided to prepare for the day instead of trying to pick up some more sleep. After all, she had no desire to return to the nightmares that had become ever-present since the loss of her father.

Maggie pulled out her road map and studied her route. She had stopped for the night just outside of Portland, Oregon, and knew she still had quite a few hours to drive before she reached her destination. Heading out on the highway had been rather comforting, and her nervousness about starting anew in Spokane, Washington was eclipsed only by her relief at leaving San Francisco behind. She could no longer deal with the memories there. And though she had doubts about accepting Hunter's offer, she at least had faith in herself as a detective and if nothing else, she knew damn well how to do her job.

She dressed for the day in haste, eager to hit the road again, and simply threw her favorite green sweater on over a pair of nice jeans. Though it had been pleasantly warm when she left California, she knew that the autumn weather would be significantly colder when she reached Spokane. After pulling her hair into a high pony tail and putting on a bit of pale pink lipstick Maggie judged herself ready and dragged her suitcase down to the lobby to grab a cup of complimentary coffee and check out.

Just a few hours away from her new life… but she never could have imagined what awaited her.

* * *

A/N: Wooooo! If you stuck with me through that first chapter, THANK YOU! Please let me know what you thought and take the time to review! The next chapter will introduce Dean Ambrose (and all his sexiness). And if you are wondering, there should be plenty of lighter moments in this story to balance out the very dark themes. This is my first time with such an ambitious story, so I hope I'm doing an okay job. ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Full House

When Maggie pulled her car off the road at the address Hunter had given her, she found herself suddenly consumed with doubt. The house in front of her looked like it belonged in a Norman Rockwell painting, and she could just envision the happy family living within. With a groan she rested her brow against the steering wheel, half tempted to pick a random direction and drive away as quickly as possible. What the hell was Hunter thinking, inviting her to live with him? This had to be her worst plan ever. Before she could tuck tail and run, however, she heard the front door swing open and knew it was too late.

"Maggie! You made it!" The welcoming smile on Hunter's face was almost enough to assuage her fears, and she couldn't help but return it with a crooked smile of her own. Taking a deep breath, she exited the car and pulled her lone suitcase out. She had barely set it down before Hunter seized her in a hug, lifting her clear off her feet. She realized briefly that if he'd wanted to, he probably could have broken her in half easily. The man was just as physically impressive as when she had met him in his prime, fourteen years ago.

Despite herself, she felt a laugh bubble up from her throat and squeezed him back just as fiercely. When he finally set her back on her feet she had forgotten her nerves and she allowed herself to be a little excited at the prospect of starting a new life here. "You haven't changed your mind, have you? Still want me working in your department?"

Hunter barked out a laugh and shook his head at her. "You know any department in the country would be lucky to have a detective as good as you are, Maggie."

She felt herself blush at the compliment and turned her attention back to the massive ranch style home in front of her. "I'll grant you that one, but… are you sure you want me living here? I mean, with your family and everything?"

He grinned at her words and gently took her by the elbow, hefting her suitcase easily in his other hand. "Just wait 'till you meet Steph and the kids, they're excited to get to know my favorite niece." He winked at her before continuing, "And don't worry, we have a little guest house in the back, so you'll have your own space."

Maggie felt herself relax a little more, grateful that Hunter realized how nervous she had been at the thought of imposing on his family life, and let him lead her around to the guest house. It was just a simple two story apartment style building, complete with a bedroom, bathroom, and its own kitchen. "Wow… Hunter, this is great. You know I can't thank you enough for getting me out of San Francisco." She fought the tears that threatened and blinked them away, "I'll make sure you don't regret this decision."

"I want you to know that you're a part of my family, Maggie. No matter what happened… you don't have to be alone."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and grinned back at him, "Thanks-" Abruptly she was cut off, as a beautiful brunette swept in through the open door and immediately threw her arms around her.

"Oh, Maggie, we've waited so long to meet you!" Stephanie squeezed the younger girl with enthusiasm, and behind her flocked in three young girls. She finally released her and stood back, beaming with pride at her children as she introduced them. "I'd like you to meet Aurora, Murphy, and Vaughn. Girls, this is your Aunt Maggie."

Though she blushed at the title, Magnolia knelt down and offered the girls a warm smile. She would always have a special soft spot for children. "Hey kiddos. I'll need you to show me the ropes around here, I haven't made any friends yet."

The eldest, Aurora, smiled widely back at her, "That's okay, Aunt Maggie, we'll be your friends." She spoke confidently, while the younger girls blushed and hid behind their mother, clearly shy around new people.

Stephanie exchanged a glance with her husband and held her youngest daughters by the hand. "Alrighty, girls, let's let your Auntie have some time to get settled in. We'll see you for dinner, Maggie. Hope you like mac 'n cheese." The girls giggled as their mother led them back to the main house, and suddenly it was just Hunter, lingering with his adoptive niece.

Maggie elbowed him playfully when she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. "Hey now, no crying on the first day."

He smiled down at her, but the sadness remained in his eyes. "Don't worry about me, Maggie. I just… I really wish we could have had more time with Shawn, you know? It doesn't seem right, him being gone so young."

Though the tears threatened again, she managed to hold her composure. She had done enough crying over the past few weeks. "I know. I'm never going to get over missing him. But-" her voice broke and she struggled for the words to continue, "–he would want us to keep going. When I quit the force, I just... just couldn't imagine going back to work without him there. But up here I can have a fresh start. So thank you, _Uncle_ Hunter." She put emphasis on the endearment and was rewarded when he enveloped her in another hug.

"Okay," he said, releasing her and heading for the doorway. "You get settled in. You'll be expected at work first thing in the morning, so make sure you get some rest tonight."

She frowned to herself, remembering her nightmare and doubting seriously whether she would ever get a good night's rest again. "See ya at dinner, Hunter."

* * *

The night passed slowly for Magnolia, and she wound up getting very little sleep. But then, that was pretty much what she had expected, so when the final nightmare awoke her at 4 AM again, she decided to get up and begin her day. After a long, hot shower she agonized over what to wear, eager to make a good impression for her first day on the job. Finally she decided on a navy blue blazer and matching pencil skirt, with a jade green blouse underneath and a pair of beige pumps. Her hair she pulled back in a long French braid, and in her ears she wore small gold hoops.

She swept on some black mascara and her familiar pink lipstick and then she was ready to go. On her way to the station she stopped to buy some coffee, one of those extra decadent frozen concoctions to give her a nice sugar and caffeine buzz. She slurped it happily through her straw as she pulled into the parking lot, and then her nerves overtook her. Briefly she thought again about picking a random direction and driving away, but in the end she owed too much to Hunter to ditch on her first day. With a sigh she threw open her car door… and managed to smack it right into someone as they were walking by.

"Holy _fucking_ hell!" The gruff cry took her by surprise and she hurried out of the car, coming face to face with the rather angry victim of her car door. The first thing she noticed was his electric blue eyes, though they were furious, they still sent a shock wave through her body that she certainly wasn't expecting. The next thing she noticed was the peculiar way he was clutching his shirt away from his body, and she only had a second to wonder about that before he started yelling again, "It is way too fucking early for this shit. I wanted to drink that coffee, woman, not wear it!"

Instantly she bristled at his tone, not entirely happy with being screamed at over what was clearly an accident. Though she'd be inhuman if she didn't feel bad about making a guy dump hot coffee on himself first thing in the morning. "First of all, don't call me 'woman'." She shot him a brief glare and then softened her tone, "Look, I'm sorry. This is- you know, my first day here. I just…" For a moment she was mesmerized again, noticing the way his wet shirt clung to a very well defined physique and the way his wavy hair fell in his eyes so perfectly. She was half tempted to reach up and brush it back before she realized she was doing more gawking than apologizing and forced herself to take a deep breath.

He shook his head, tossing his now empty coffee cup into the nearby trash with perfect aim before focusing his scorching gaze on her once again. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Without another word he turned and fled the parking lot, and she noted with a grimace that he was headed to the station and was, more than likely, one of her new coworkers. Finally she managed to close her car door and rested her forehead against it, thinking that the cut and run option was sounding more tempting by the minute. Before she could even look up, she felt a hand pat her gently on the back and she whipped herself around, half terrified the blue eyed man from before had come back to yell at her some more.

"Yeah, hi. I guess you must be the new detective. My name's Seth Rollins. Sorry about your run in there." He flashed her a crooked grin and she returned it, glad to see a friendly face. "Don't worry too much about him, that's pretty much how he treats anybody. Although I've never seen someone dump his coffee on him before." He chuckled and she felt her face flush.

"It's, um, well it's nice to meet you, Seth. I- it really was an accident." She rubbed the back of her neck, trying her best to pull herself together, and stuck out her right hand. "I'm Magnolia Michaels, but call me Maggie. I swear I'm not normally this awkward." They shook hands briefly and she noticed his warm brown eyes, still twinkling with amusement at what had transpired. His hair then drew her attention, it was mostly black but a quarter of it near the front had been rather uniquely bleached blonde. He wore it pulled back in a low ponytail.

"You got it, Maggie. Now I guess you'd better hurry inside. The chief gets pretty angry if you're late on your first day. Make sure you head to the third floor, that's where the detectives get to hang. I'm just a beat cop, so we'll see each other around."

She flashed a brilliant smile. "Thanks, Seth. I've gotta run." And run she did, suddenly resentful of the choice to wear high heels today. She made a beeline for the stairs and sprinted up the three flights, though she was in good shape she still had to pause and catch her breath at the top. The sight that greeted her made her feel immediately at home. Detectives are detectives apparently, no matter what corner of the country they happen to reside in. There were desks everywhere, and not a single one of them was orderly. Case files and sticky notes, well used coffee cups both full and empty, the occasional framed picture of a smiling spouse or a group of kids. She felt herself grinning and realized that she could, indeed, belong here.

Confidently she strode through the mess of desks and paperwork, knowing that the Chief's office would be at the end. Sure enough she found the door marked 'Chief Helmsley' and knocked briefly, still slurping her frozen coffee. "Come in." came the gruff bark from the other side, and Maggie opened up the door, ready to greet her Uncle. Instead, her eyes went straight for the other occupant of the room. Standing against the wall and pulling a sopping shirt over his head was the man from the parking lot. He dropped the shirt to the floor and began promptly drying his chest with Kleenex from Hunter's desk.

For a moment all Maggie could to was marvel at how good this guy looked without a shirt on. Unconsciously she licked her lips, before a cough from Hunter brought her crashing back to reality.

"Chief," she nodded, forcing her eyes to meet his and ignoring the other man in the room as her face flushed scarlet, "Reporting for duty." She grinned at her Uncle, and though he shot a confused glance between her and his other detective, he returned her grin.

"Alright, Detective Michaels. I'd like you to meet your new partner. This is Detective Dean Ambrose." He gestured, and she returned her gaze to her surly new partner, who, thankfully, was in the process of buttoning up a clean new shirt.

"Yeah, we've met already." He grumbled, and she found herself meeting his electric gaze with a heated one of her own. "Detective Michaels." He practically growled her name.

"Detective Ambrose." She returned with equal venom, challenging him to make an issue in front of the Chief.

To her surprise, he simply smirked at her, seemingly amused that she wasn't going to back down. "Yeah, I'm sure we'll work great together." He turned his attention to the Chief, "Look, this case you have me on is big, you sure you want to throw her into it?"

Hunter nodded, "This is exactly the kind of case Michaels is used too. I have utmost faith in her. Go get your files together so you can go over it all from the beginning." Ambrose nodded and swept out the door, tossing one last electrifying look at her before he left. Try as she might, she couldn't read the emotion in his eyes.

Hunter sighed once he left, rubbing savagely at his temples before rising to greet his niece with the usual bear hug. "So, you doing okay Maggie? Think you can handle it here?"

She bit her lip lightly, remembering her altercation in the parking lot. But, hey, if Ambrose was going to play rough, she could handle it. "I'm doing great. Ready to dive into a case."

"Good. Your new partner… well he doesn't have the best track record for playing well with others. But I figure if anyone can work with him, you can."

Maggie nodded. "It won't be a problem, Chief."

Hunter sighed and sat back down at his desk. "One more thing before we're done… this case you're working on. He's right, it's a big one. It's a little girl, Maggie. Raped and murdered. Found her in the park three days ago. Ambrose has been busting his ass looking for leads. I need to know that you're okay working this one. I said I have the utmost confidence in you, and I do, but if you're uncomfortable…"

She quickly shook her head. "I got this, Chief. No need to worry about me." With a gentle smile she headed for the door, "So, we done here?"

Hunter smiled back, "Yeah, though I feel like I'm throwing you to the wolves."

Maggie laughed, "No problem, Hunter. I am a wolf." With that, she left his office behind, and joined the jumble of detectives to find Ambrose. A new case... a murdered girl... Someone had to make sure she got justice.

* * *

A/N: So, what do you think so far? Have I hooked you on this? There's going to be a lot of darker elements to this story, so be prepared. As always, please take the time to review! It really brightens my day. ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Annabelle Houston

Dean ran a hand compulsively through his dirty blonde hair as he exited the Chief's office and headed for his desk with perhaps just a bit more anger in his stride than usual. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed one of the unclaimed desks from the corner of the room and shoved it unceremoniously next to his before finally dropping into his chair. For a moment he simply pressed both hands to his head, already feeling the beginnings of a caffeine headache settling deviously in his temples.

"Oy, Ambrose!"

He cursed mildly under his breath before looking up, already knowing the jovial voice calling out to him belonged to fellow Detective Chris Jericho.

"Need something, Jericho?"

The blonde man grinned down at him as if laughing at his own private joke before setting a steaming mug of black coffee down on the desk. "I happened to bump into Rollins downstairs, and he mentioned you might be in need of some extra coffee this morning."

Try as he might to remain grumpy, the aroma of a fresh cup of coffee made his mouth water instantaneously. Dean reached gratefully for the mug, nodding his thanks to Jericho and making a mental note to speak to Rollins about his gossiping habit. "Yeah, yeah, had a run in with the new girl. I 'spose you guys have been laughing it up all morning?" he grumbled before taking a couple quick gulps from his mug. He allowed himself a small sigh of satisfaction, already feeling the pain in his head loosen up.

Jericho grinned with mirth, but he managed to stop himself from laughing. Ambrose may be thankful for the coffee, but his temper was known to flare up with the slightest provocation. "Oh yeah, but don't worry. Once she strode through here on her heels the talk became primarily about what a fox she is."

Dean smirked to himself, "Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention between the scalding hot coffee I was wearing and the Chief telling me I get stuck with her as my new partner."

Jericho's eyes widened and he choked a bit on his own sip of coffee. "Seriously? That poor, poor girl…"

Before he had the chance to respond, he heard the Chief's office door open again and out sauntered miss Magnolia Michaels herself. She surveyed the room for a moment before her eyes settled on Ambrose and she headed in his direction. For the first time he allowed himself to really study his new partner and for an instant he was completely mesmerized. Her big amber eyes locked on his own and literally sent a jolt through his system.

He noticed suddenly how long her rich chestnut hair was, and how perfectly her navy blue skirt suit conformed to her lithe, shapely body. Though she wore heels, he'd guess her real height to be about 5'4, and he had a moment of admiration that she didn't get intimidated in a profession dominated so extensively by large, aggressive men. As she got closer and took a seat at the desk he had pulled over for her (which he was now wishing he had pushed just a little bit closer) he noticed the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks and felt something inside him warm up to her just a little.

It took Dean a moment to realize he was staring, probably with his mouth agape, and indeed the only thing that really snapped him from his reverie was a rather pointed cough from Jericho.

"Ahem," The older detective began, extending his hand with a warm smile to his new colleague. "Chris Jericho, pleased to meet you. Anything you ever need around here, I'd be more than happy to help you out." His voice practically dripped with charm and Dean had to resist the urge to aim one of his boots at the man's shin.

His new partner, however, seemed not to notice the awkward moment or the obvious flirtation. "Magnolia Michaels, nice to meet you Detective Jericho."

"Oh please, call me Chris."

"Well, then, call me Maggie." She smiled and Dean struggled to not stare at her luscious pink lips.

Chris allowed their handshake to linger far too long for Dean's liking, and capped the whole thing off with a rather extravagant kiss to her knuckles. Finally the moment seemed to end and he stepped back from the desk.

"You finally remember you've got work you should be doing? Or do I need to sit here and watch you hit on my new partner some more?" Dean grumbled, wondering to himself why he was feeling so protective over some new detective. Sure, she was a woman, and… well, a very attractive woman at that, but he'd never had a reaction like this to someone before. And he certainly couldn't forget he'd shown his own temper to her earlier in the parking lot. He forced a smile at Jericho and watched the man walk away, giving himself a moment to snap back into work mode.

Of course, that was easily done once he returned his gaze to the case file in front of him. He had memorized every horrible detail over the past three days. With a sigh he pushed the file onto Maggie's desk and met her eyes, trying his best to convey the gravity of the situation. "Okay, Michaels, I'm gonna give you the run down before I let you open this up. There aren't a lot of murders worse than this one right here, and you'd better be damn sure you're as good as you think you are, because I want to catch this sicko _now,_ understand?"

* * *

Maggie bristled slightly at his tone, not sure whether he meant to be insulting or just intense. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and looked solemnly down at the file before her. Despite her bravado, it was true that any case like this tended to hit her hard. Fortunately, she was good at turning her own anguish into determination, and she had never yet failed to catch a child murderer when she was on the case. "I got it, Ambrose. If I wasn't good enough, I wouldn't be here." She did her best to meet his heated blue gaze with an equal intensity.

He nodded and removed his hand from the file, allowing her to finally open it on her own. As she did, she noticed he turned his attention back to his cup of coffee, and felt rather grateful that he would give her a moment to process this without being scrutinized.

There is no preparing yourself for crime scene photos like this. Even the most hardened of detectives cannot escape the powerful emotions that arise when you come face to face with the horrors that truly depraved human souls can cause. The first page was littered with photographs. A beautiful brunette child beamed at her from the top of the page, her wide blue eyes full of innocence and raw potential. The name under the photo was handwritten, as were most of the notes, and she read it aloud.

"Annabelle Houston, thirteen years old…" she muttered to herself, and though her eyes watered she refused to let the tears fall. Not here. To his credit, Dean kept his eyes politely averted as he finished his coffee.

Her eyes moved to the second photo, and she felt the all too familiar sensation of her sadness being quietly replaced by rage. It was recognizably Annabelle Houston, but just barely. Her body had been found abandoned in a quiet stretch of national forest, literally tossed into the mud and left there. Her face was swollen and her entire body was covered in large, dark bruises. She was still wearing the yellow dress she had been abducted in, but it was torn and sickeningly streaked with blood.

Managing to find her voice at last, Maggie asked, "The blood on her dress… is it only hers, or does some belong to the attacker?" Her eyes never left the photograph.

Dean glanced back at her, seemingly impressed that she would immediately key in on that, "Unfortunately the blood appears to be all hers."

Maggie narrowed her eyes and studied the photograph further. Cause of death was strangulation, dark ligature marks marred the child's small neck. For just a quick flash she could perfectly envision the girl's final, agonizing moments… held down by someone so much stronger, clawing with desperation at the cord tightening around her throat and struggling for another breath that will never come.

Numbly Maggie realized she had been clenching her fists on the desk, and uncurled her hands to reveal deep crescent grooves. With a heavy hearted sigh she rubbed them angrily on her skirt and turned back to her partner. "Any DNA evidence at all? Under the fingernails maybe?"

Dean nodded, "We found skin cells beneath her fingernails. The girl fought him as hard as she could. No DNA match in the database."

"Shit." Maggie continued to flip through the file, finding herself somewhat endeared by the sight of Dean's sprawling, handwritten notes. He had already explored the very avenues she herself would have started with. She found herself forming a grudging admiration for the gruff detective. At least he knew what he was doing. "So you interviewed the family, no leads there? Suspicious relatives, neighbors, anybody?"

He shook his head sadly. "Parents don't seem the type to have any involvement. They're torn to pieces over this… couldn't remember seeing anything suspicious, can't think of anybody who would want to do their daughter harm." He shifted his gaze to the window and allowed his mind to wander back to those interviews and re-digest key moments. "She was snatched right out of the park three blocks from her house. Parents let her walk over there with a friend from school…" he struggled a bit with his memory before remembering her name, "…Hannah Dawson."

Maggie glanced back up with interest. "What does the friend remember?"

"Not much. One minute she was walking with her best friend near the back of the park, and the next minute she was out cold. When she woke up she had a nasty concussion and Annabelle was nowhere to be found. Hospital report says she was hit with a blunt object of some kind." He shook his head with anger and finally met her eyes again. She almost shuddered at the raw emotion in his gaze. "Nobody else in the park saw anything."

She took a deep breath and got a hold of herself, turning the situation over in her mind. "Okay, Ambrose…" she began, giving the file a final flip through before she was sure she had memorized everything important. "So we've got a thirteen year old victim, who was sexually assaulted before she was strangled to death… and no suspects whatsoever?"

"That's right, Michaels. Where do you suggest we go from here?" He pulled the file back to his desk and flipped through it angrily himself.

Maggie leaned back in her chair, genuinely surprised that he was willing to trust her opinion enough to ask for it. "Well, I suppose you searched the area around the park for sex offenders? Sent officers door to door asking if anyone saw anything?"

Ambrose nodded impatiently and ran a hand through his unruly dirty blonde hair. "Done and done. Nada."

She nodded, going through the facts again in her mind, "How about the area near where she was found? The report says it was a small chunk of national forest, did you speak to nearby property owners? It's possible our psycho snatched her from town but dumped the body closer to wherever he calls home."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Well now, that's a damn good idea." He coughed as if noticing he had complimented her and gruffly continued, "I'll pull up a map and grab us some addresses to investigate. Go let the Chief know we'll be spending our day out in the boonies. We could get a good lead out there, so I'm not going to trust this to anyone else." He turned his electric blue eyes to look her up and down once again. "Tell me you've got different shoes to wear."

She felt her face flush in embarrassment, and had to look away from his cocky smirk to regain her composure. "I can handle it. I've certainly faced worse challenges than walking down a dirt driveway in heels." Quickly she pushed herself back from the desk and rose to her feet, and when she glanced back up she decided to show him she could be just as cocky as he was. "Don't fret yourself over me, Ambrose. Worry more about keeping your coffee in your cup instead of all over your shirt."

She couldn't help but let out a light giggle as his face contorted in indignation, and before he could come up with a suitably clever reply she had turned on her heel and set off to let the Chief know their plans.

* * *

Hunter watched silently from his office window as his niece climbed in the passenger seat of Dean Ambrose's Dodge Challenger and drove away. For what was certainly not the first time that day, he wondered if he had done the right thing partnering them together. Individually, they were definitely the best homicide detectives he had, but… with everything Maggie had been through… he was beginning to doubt his decision to pair her with someone who had such a reputation for being insensitive.

With a sigh of resignation he stepped away from the window and sat heavily at his desk. He ran his hands over his short buzzed hair and resumed massaging his temples. He would have to trust that Maggie was strong enough to handle her new partner. Deep down he was truly sure that she was, but after being absent from her life for so many years he couldn't help but feel extra protective. So for now, he would keep a close eye on them. It'd be a cold day in hell before he let someone hurt his niece when she was already so vulnerable.

* * *

Dean rode with the windows down, and lit himself a cigarette as they pulled out of the station parking lot. He couldn't help but realize that this was literally the first time he had a woman in his car without the intention of taking her home for a one night stand. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he exhaled slowly and tuned the radio to the local rock station, eager for some noise to fill the silence. Still he couldn't get over the boldness of this woman.

He tended to treat everyone with the same general attitude, and it mostly boiled down to 'don't fuck with me, or I'll make sure you regret it.' His cockiness had been well earned. He had fought his whole life, from his broken family in the slums in Cincinnati to police academy. For years he proved himself time and time again to be the best, until finally he had worked his way to the detective job he had always wanted. Now he did his best to bring justice to the world, one case at a time, and he sure as hell didn't take shit from anybody anymore.

Stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, his mind wandered again to the woman sitting next to him. He spared a quick glance in her direction, marveling again at her raw beauty. She just looked way too naïve to be a homicide detective. Then again, she had risen above and beyond every challenge he had presented her with today. Hell, after the way he'd unleashed his temper the first moment they met he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd demanded a different partner.

Somehow, he believed she did have the guts to handle this case. Maybe even the guts to handle being around _him_ for an extended period of time. He smirked at that thought, and realized that he had never had a partnership last more than four months. Yet as he studied Magnolia, he could sense that she was so much more beneath the surface than he had ever dealt with before. This girl had secrets… and an inner strength that may even surpass his own.

As if she was knew what he was thinking, Maggie turned and fixed him with a curious gaze, her bright eyes twinkling with some hidden thought.

"Yes, Michaels?" He grumbled, slightly uncomfortable at being the focus of her rapt attention.

Her lips quirked suddenly into an amused smile and she returned to looking out the windshield. "Just wasn't sure if you realized this is our exit."

"Fuck!" At the last minute Dean managed to deftly swerve the car onto the exit ramp, quickly lowering his speed. As he got the car back under control and pulled onto the smaller road that would lead to their first destination, she literally _giggled_ at him.

* * *

A/N: To everybody who's enjoying it so far, thanks for sticking with me! Please take the time to review and tell me what you think... I love working on this story, but it's your encouragement that keeps me going! Coming up next, the special appearance of one of my favorites... Paul Heyman! ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Questions without Answers

Gravel crunched and flew beneath the tires as Dean swung his car neatly off the road onto a narrow driveway. Maggie leaned forward in her seat, studying the scenery intently and trying to envision if this was the kind of place their psycho would live. She involuntarily shuddered as a flood of her own memories came rushing back to her. Suddenly she was eleven again, shaking in the back of a police cruiser as it slowly pulled away from the ramshackle house that had been her own personal hell.

"You okay?" Dean asked sharply, slowing the car down and snapping her firmly back into reality.

"Of course," she muttered, pushing those memories firmly away, "just trying to prepare myself."

He nodded, seeming to accept her answer. "Keep your eyes and ears open out here. Too many detectives miss good leads because they're not payin' enough attention." The trees lining the driveway suddenly cleared, and they found themselves pulling up to an old farm house. The white paint on the walls was peeling, but there was a cheery flower garden out front and it gave the place a very homey feel. To the right of the house was a large red barn, and a host of farm animals roamed the grassy fields, grazing contentedly. One jersey cow raised its head to call out a loud moo as they drove by.

Two cars were parked out front: one large red pickup truck and a shiny silver jaguar. Dean parked his own car smoothly behind them and killed the engine. He reached over her suddenly to open the glove box and pull out a battered looking notebook with a pen jammed into the spiral binding. "You wanna be good cop or bad cop today?" His lips stretched into an amused smirk as he continued, "I'm partial to bad cop myself, but, my being such a gentleman and all, I'll let you choose."

Maggie couldn't help but smile back, thinking that she had never before met someone with anywhere near the swagger of her new partner. "I'll play good cop. And-" she reached her hand out to snatch the notebook from his grasp, nearly jumping in surprise as their fingers brushed and it was as if an electric current surged between them. "-I'll take notes. No offense, but I've seen your handwriting and it gives me a bit of a headache."

"Yeah, whatever. Book keeping's not quite my style anyway." And with that, he slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and smoothly exited the car. She followed suit with slightly less grace, crossing her legs to avoid flashing her panties at the cows. "Let's go, Michaels." He called after her impatiently, already making his way to the door, and she hurried to catch up. Once more she turned the case over in her mind, trying to cement the questions that she didn't want to forget to ask.

Dean knocked loudly and stood back with his arms crossed as she stood to his left, flipping the notebook rapidly to find a blank page. At the sound of the door opening she glanced up, and the man at the door nearly made her forget her game plan altogether.

Calling him massive would be putting it mildly. He towered over her, and the breadth of him was more than a little intimidating. Not an inch of his body appeared to be anything but tense, coiled muscle. His light hair was closely buzzed and his eyes were a cold blue, and abruptly she realized that this could very well be their killer standing before them. She cleared her throat to hide her moment of shock and quickly nodded a greeting, "Good morning, my name is Detective Michaels and this is Detective Ambrose." Quickly they flashed their badges and Dean nodded, his face a cool mask of composure as she continued, "We'd like to ask you a few questions regarding a recent murder."

The man behind the door stared down at her, his eyes widening slightly. When he spoke, his voice had a surprising southern twang to it. "I really don't have time for this right now-" he began, but was cut off abruptly by Dean.

"I think you can make time, big guy." His voice was low and gravelly, and he leaned one muscular arm casually against the door jamb. Clearly he wasn't the type to be easily intimidated.

Before either man had the chance to do more than glare menacingly at the other, someone from within the house called out in a slightly peevish voice, "Go ahead and let them in, Brock. I can answer whatever questions they have."

Just like that, the man named Brock's demeanor abruptly changed and he stood back from the doorway, allowing Dean and herself to enter the house. Immediately to the left was a cozy kitchen, and seated at the table with a cup of coffee and a laptop was a middle aged man, soft around the middle with a balding head of brunette hair. He rose as they entered and stretched out his hand, which Maggie promptly shook. The man spoke again, his voice full of careful eloquence, "Good morning, Detectives. My name is Paul Heyman."

Dean nodded at him but remained standing in the corner of the room as Maggie and Paul took a seat at the kitchen table. Brock, however, turned on his heel and stalked out of the house altogether.

"Are you the property owner, Mr. Heyman?" Maggie asked first, nonchalantly setting her pen to the blank page in her notebook to record his answer.

Paul squirmed, mildly uncomfortable, but answered in the affirmative, "Yes, this is my land. I grew up out here. Nowadays I prefer city life," he chuckled wryly, "owning a farm was never my idea of success."

Maggie made a couple of notes and continued, as Dean ambled around the kitchen. "The man who greeted us at the door, is he a relation…?"

Paul barked out a laugh at this, "Well, as I mentioned, I'm not overly fond of this place. The man you met is my hired help, Brock Lesnar. I allow him to live here, and in exchange he does all the farm work. He's quite the beast, as you could clearly see…" as if realizing that fact may have sparked their interest he hurriedly added, "but he's very simple. The only things I've really seen him mad about are the garden and the cows."

Maggie nodded, "I see, Mr. Heyman. And how long have you known Brock Lesnar?"

The older man leaned back in his chair, pondering his answer. "Well, I hired him about three years back. One of the best decisions I ever made. I have an apartment in the city, you see, and now I rarely have to trouble myself with this place."

Dean stepped a little closer to the table and spoke up, pulling his sunglasses off and fixing the man with a hard stare, "You trust this Lesnar guy? Seems like if he's out here on his own most of the time you'd hardly know him."

Paul cowed a bit under Dean's harsh gaze but spoke quickly and precisely, "As I said, he's a simple guy. He was down a bit on his luck when I met him… apparently he was some college football star before an injury put him out of the game. To answer your question, yes, I trust him."

Dean frowned but accepted his answer, and Maggie scribbled a few more notes down before continuing her line of questions, "Three days ago a body was discovered in the nearby forest, Mr. Heyman. Can you tell me your whereabouts on the night of September 23rd?"

"Of course, of course. I was in town, actually. I, erm-" for the first time he appeared to stumble slightly over his words and Maggie shot him a questioning look, beckoning for him to continue, "Well, I happened to be entertaining a young woman at the time." His face flushed slightly.

"We'll need the name of the woman you were with." Dean spoke up from the corner of the room and Paul glanced back at him, seemingly embarrassed.

"Certainly, Detective Ambrose. It's just… well I met this young lady through an agency, you see. Just, you know, looking for a bit of companionship." Having said his piece he looked demurely back at Maggie and she resisted the temptation to smirk at his choice of words.

"An escort?" she asked.

"A hooker?" Dean spoke up at the same time, and they shared an amused glance between them.

Paul spluttered slightly, "An _escort_, yes, Detectives. I can give you the name of the agency and the girl. I'm sure they keep records." He gave Maggie the appropriate information and as she wrote it down Dean continued the questions.

"So maybe _you_ have an alibi, but I guess it'd be safe to assume Lesnar was out here alone that night?"

Paul's brow wrinkled in doubt and he took a large drink of coffee before answering, "I would say so. Truthfully, Brock is out here alone nearly every night. I only stay out here for a few days each month."

Maggie and Dean exchanged a suspicious glance before she moved on to the next question.

"Can you tell me about your neighbors, Mr. Heyman?"

He relaxed slightly, seemingly grateful that he was no longer the direct subject of their questions. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know them very well. And Brock is very much a 'keeps to himself' kind of guy. The only one I have very much contact with is an older woman who has owned her property since I was a child. Judith Keats. She owns a large chunk of land just past mine. She's been living by herself since her children grew up and flew the coop."

Maggie wrote the name down. "Anybody else you'd like to mention? Have you ever had reason to be suspicious, or uncomfortable about any of your neighbors? The slightest bit of information could wind up being very important in this case."

Paul considered her words and thought carefully for a moment before answering, "Well as I said, I haven't had much contact with my neighbors. Nobody stands out in my mind as being suspicious in the slightest." He drummed the fingers of one hand nervously against his kitchen table, "You must keep in mind that people usually choose to live so rurally for a reason. Nobody out here is really the 'bake cookies and bring them to the neighbors' type. Mrs. Keats has lived here longer than anyone else that I'm aware of, so if anyone is going to have the answers you're looking for, it would likely be her."

Maggie sighed and nodded her understanding. With a deft flick of her wrist she flipped the notebook closed and jammed the pen back into the binding. Smoothly she pushed her chair back and rose from the table. "I'd like to thank you for taking the time to help our investigation, Mr. Heyman."

Paul smiled up at her, obviously grateful that the interview had ended. "Of course, Detectives. I'll help you in any way that I can."

Dean dug out his wallet and retrieved a card, placing it neatly on the table in front of the older man. "Good to hear. Make sure you give me a call on that number, anytime, if you think of anything new to tell us."

Paul nodded and studied the card for a moment before rising from the table himself. "I'll be sure to do that." Gradually they returned to the front door and said polite goodbyes. "Good luck with your investigation, Detective Ambrose, Detective Michaels."

With that, the door to the farm house closed and Maggie and Dean returned to his vehicle, neither of them speaking up until the doors were closed and the engine roared back to life.

Maggie scanned her sparse notes from the interview and spoke first, "Not quite sure what to think of that pair. Lesnar has more than enough strength to easily be our murderer, but… Heyman seemed to be truthful when he said he was pretty harmless. Hopefully he'd have some inkling if the man working for him for three years had homicidal urges."

Dean frowned before replying, "Unless Heyman is covering for him. That guy was way too smooth for my liking."

Maggie nodded slowly, "Well we're definitely not writing them off yet. People normally act a bit more shaken to find two homicide detectives at their door." She frowned, "He didn't once ask about the victim."

"I'll call about his alibi when we get back to the station. We'll need to run a thorough background check on the both of them."

Maggie nodded and resumed studying her notes. "Is Judith Keats on our list of interviews today?"

Dean nodded the affirmative as he pulled his car back onto the main road from the smaller gravel driveway. "She's got the last property in line, just at the edge of the radius I searched."

* * *

The next two stops passed uneventfully and they didn't manage to pry up any new information. Heyman had been right when he told them most of the people out here kept to themselves. As they pulled slowly down the driveway to the final property, Maggie allowed her hope to rekindle. If anyone had some answers for them, it seemed the most likely person was going to be Mrs. Judith Keats.

Dean parked his challenger behind a dusty old Cutlass Supreme and they studied the property from the car for a moment. This was no farm, just a neat, small house nestled in the middle of the woods. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the pine trees and lit the small clearing with a hazy orange glow. The front porch held a host of potted and hanging plants, and a tiny old woman eyed them from an ancient looking rocking chair, a paperback novel propped open on her lap.

Maggie hopped out first and flashed her badge quickly. "Good afternoon, ma'am. My name is Detective Michaels, with the Spokane P.D." Dean climbed out after her and she added, "This is my partner, Detective Ambrose. We'd like to ask you some questions regarding a recent murder."

At this the woman's misty grey eyes shot wide open, and she folded her book closed and set it aside. "Oh dear. Come on up, Detectives. You can call me Judy."

Together they ambled slowly up the steps to her porch, the old wood creaking noisily beneath their footfalls. Before they had the opportunity to ask any questions, the old woman spoke again.

"Is it… it's not anyone I- that I know, is it?" Her eyes were watery as she asked, and Maggie realized she was probably thinking anxiously of her grown children.

Dean answered immediately, "That's unlikely, Mrs. Keats. The body was discovered in a stretch of forest near here. The victim was a young girl from the city."

Judy visibly relaxed, but a tear slipped from her eyes nonetheless and she sadly brushed it away. "That's horrible…" she began before getting a hold of herself.

To Maggie's surprise, Dean appeared to relax himself and took a graceful seat on the front steps, shaking a cigarette from his near empty pack and lighting it up. He took a long drag and exhaled slowly, and when he spoke again his voice was almost gentle. "We'd like to ask you your whereabouts for the night of September 23rd."

Rocking slowly in her chair, Judy thought a moment before answering, "I was home alone, as I usually am. I had a long conversation over the phone with my daughter that night." She smiled with some faraway thought, "My grandson left for college this month, clear across the country, you see, and my daughter was feeling a bit lonely."

Maggie flipped open her notebook, "May I ask for your daughter's name and number, Judy?"

The old woman complied and she carefully scribbled down the information before asking the next question. "Could you tell me a bit about your neighbors? We spoke to a Mr. Heyman earlier and he informed us that you have lived out here for many years."

Judy nodded, her eyes clouding with thought as she answered, "Indeed. Little Paul was just a boy when his parents bought the farm house. He moved away the moment he turned eighteen, but since he inherited the farm we've kept in contact. Did you meet Brock?"

Maggie nodded, "We did. Have either of them ever given you reason to be suspicious or uncomfortable?"

Quickly Judy shook her head, "Not them, no. Brock may come across a bit angry at first, but I believe he's still grieving for the way his life turned out. Poor man was headed for the NFL, you know, before he injured his knee."

Maggie frowned a bit at her choice of wording, "You said 'not them', have you ever had reason to doubt any of your other neighbors?"

The old woman pursed her lips as a gentle breeze lifted her curly white hair and she rocked slowly in her chair. Dean studied her carefully. When she finally spoke again, she seemed a bit uncomfortable with her answer, "I would say not. I can't imagine any of my neighbors harming a little girl." Somehow she sounded as if she didn't believe her own words, and Dean spoke up with agitation.

"This little girl wasn't just _harmed_, Mrs. Keats. She was snatched from a park, brutally assaulted, raped and murdered. Some asshole dumped her body less than five miles from your property. If you know _anything_ you think might be important, you need to let us know now so we can lock this sicko up." His harsh words appeared to have the desired effect, as the old woman rose from her chair, visibly rattled.

"I- I told you I don't know anything, Detectives, and I told you the truth. _Now_ if you have no further questions, I'd like to retire for the evening." Her voice was shaky, and the expression in her eyes spoke volumes. Clearly there was something she wasn't telling them.

Maggie sighed in frustration and Dean roughly stubbed out his cigarette, standing up and facing the woman one last time. He fixed her with an earnest, if slightly imposing stare and once more dug a card out of his wallet. He pressed it firmly into her hand and met her eyes, "Listen to me, Mrs. Keats. If you think of anything at all that we should know, give me a call at this number. Any time, day or night. Believe me when I tell you that we are dealing with a psychopath. If we can't stop him soon enough, the next victim might be one of your grandchildren."

Judy gasped in horror at his words and stared with desperation at the small card in her hand. When she glanced back up at him, her eyes were flooded with tears and lost again in some faraway thought. Her lips, however, were pursed tightly and when she spoke again her voice was curt and dismissive. "Goodbye, Detectives." Promptly she went inside, clutching her novel and Dean's card tightly to her chest, and closed the door firmly behind her. There was nothing left for them to do but return to the car and head back to the station.

"Shit!" Dean cursed angrily the moment he had slammed his car door, and she quickly buckled her seat belt as he revved the engine and pulled away from the sad, small house. Maggie bit her lip and pondered over their interaction with Judith Keats, wondering what on earth the woman could know that she wouldn't disclose to them. Her gut firmly protested that they were leaving without any answers, and that the woman in the house had the ones they needed.

"Ambrose…" she began, but was cut off abruptly as the police scanner in the car crackled to life.

"Dispatch to car 38, dispatch to car 38."

Dean stopped the car in the middle of the driveway and grabbed for his handset. "This is car 38." He growled.

"We've got a 187, four miles from your location. You were requested specifically by the Officers on call."

Maggie's eyes widened. 187 was code for homicide, and if they were being requested on location there was a sickening likelihood that this was related to their own case. Dean angrily slapped the steering wheel as dispatch gave the address and he peeled out in the gravel, his car shooting out with a roar back onto the main road.

Maggie felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach and quickly seized the police flasher, sticking it to the roof of the car just as Dean flipped the sirens on and they sped madly toward the murder scene.

* * *

A/N: I want to give a big heartfelt thank you to those who have reviewed so far! It means a lot to me, and helps keep me motivated. Lots of exposition in this chapter, and it wound up being the longest one yet. The next chapter will see the debut of Roman Reigns, as well as some more Seth Rollins. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Innocence Lost

Dean's heart hammered in his chest as they approached the flashing lights and yellow tape at the crime scene. His blood boiled through his veins, hot with molten fury that the killer could have struck again so quickly. In the back of his mind loomed the dull, desperate feeling of failure. They hadn't caught him yet… hadn't been fast enough to prevent the loss of another young life.

He spared a glance to the woman on his left, who was hurriedly pulling on a pair of white latex gloves. Without a word Maggie handed a pair to him as well, and he nodded a brief thanks as they half jogged toward the officers on scene.

Another body dumped in the woods, just off the access road that winded its way through the forest. Another child robbed of life and thrown in the dirt. The sun was falling steadily lower in the sky, and the remaining light provided little more than a dusty, ghoulish glow that seemed to bleach the world of color.

At the barrier of crime scene tape they were greeted by one of the few men Dean considered a friend, an impressive figure whose muscles threatened to burst through his black officer's uniform. His long black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, but as it always did on days as stressful as this one it was beginning to fall free and a few strands hung loose to frame his somber face. Roman Reigns had come to the force shortly after Dean became a detective, and though they worked on different levels they were bonded by the same fierce need for justice.

"Hey Dean," he greeted in his low, rumbling voice as they approached, quickly lifting the yellow tape for the two detectives to pass under. Dean's hands shook with barely restrained rage as he tugged on his white gloves.

"Roman," he nodded, turning his heated blue gaze on the man, "this is my new partner, Detective Michaels."

He inclined his head briefly to the chestnut haired beauty as her amber eyes scanned the tree line, filled with despair and grim anticipation. "Call me Maggie…" she mumbled distractedly as she numbly stepped forward, approaching the low ditch that ran along the side of the access road.

Roman looked after her with concern, she certainly didn't look the type to be able to handle a crime scene like this, but he turned his attention back to his friend when the man spoke sharply, "Has forensic been here yet?"

Roman shook his head hurriedly, a few more strands falling free of his ponytail. He knew very well how much Dean hated other people crawling over his crime scenes before he had the chance to study them. "Just me and Seth. We got the call about an hour ago, a couple on a hike spotted the body and called it in."

He gestured to where his partner stood, speaking quietly with a visibly distressed man who held his sobbing girlfriend closely. "It became pretty clear once we got here that this was related to your case. It's damn near identical." He shrugged his big shoulders, and it was obvious how much this second death had distressed him. "Seth is better at keeping his cool than me, so he's taking the statements while I stand guard." He snorted with contempt, his low voice thick with anger, "As if anybody would want a peek at a scene like this."

Dean nodded his understanding and without another word he followed his partner to the body. Maggie stood transfixed at the edge of the ditch, half her mind numb with horror as the other half carefully scrutinized the scene before her. Viewing it in the raw was so much more visceral than seeing a snapshot in a case file, and her body trembled slightly as she began taking careful note of the details.

What was once a beautiful young girl had become just a hollow shell, the trauma to her body the only testament to the agony that had been her final hours. Her short blonde hair had been trimmed in a neat bob, but now it was sticky with mud and blood, and just like their first victim her body was riddled with bruises and lacerations. She wore only a purple t-shirt, which itself had been viscously ripped so much that it was little more than shreds.

Dimly she became aware of Dean standing next to her, and as she glanced at him she could see the intensity and the fury in his eyes as he stared down into the ditch. Swallowing the lump in her suddenly dry throat Maggie furiously kicked off her heels and climbed down to the body, unmindful of the dirt and sharp rocks beneath her bare feet.

She was careful not to disturb anything, knowing all too well how important it was to preserve the integrity of a crime scene. With one gloved finger she gingerly lifted a lock of limp hair from the girl's pale neck, revealing the same dark ligature marks they had observed on the first body. With an angry curse she heard Dean climb down after her, and when he knelt down he was close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. She found it oddly comforting, and her frantically racing heart began to calm down.

"Ambrose, I- I don't think there's any doubt this was the same guy." She spoke, her voice laced liberally with equal parts frustration and depression.

"The same monster," he growled. With a frown he leaned in closer to meticulously study the thin purple bruise that marked the cause of death. "I've never seen ligature marks like this before Annabelle." His gravelly voice broke slightly when he spoke the first victim's name and in a moment of tenderness Maggie rested a gloved hand on his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense briefly, but Dean didn't shrug her away. "He strangled her with something… thinner and tougher than rope." With a careful hand he gently ran a finger along the girl's neck, "No abrasion, so nothing rough. No cuts, so nothing fine like piano wire."

She observed the dark scowl on his face, and they shared a quiet moment of grief and guilt as their minds worked to find an answer to this puzzle. Maggie was desperate for anything, any clue that would give them a place to start. They were dealing with a serial killer now, and it had suddenly become a race to catch him before he could strike again. It was their responsibility to bring him down, so every victim felt like a knife twisting in the heart.

Forcing herself to continue, Maggie slowly scrutinized the rest of the body, starting with the toes and working her way up. Though she tried to restrain her reactions, she couldn't help but visibly wince as she observed the dark, dried blood streaking the girl's thin legs. Her amber gaze swept over the tattered t-shirt, her eyes flooding with unshed tears when she noticed that it was patterned with tiny pink roses. Massive dark bruises covered her arms where large hands had held her down.

Abruptly Maggie did a double take, staring at something strange on the victim's right palm. It took her a moment to get over the shock of having actually discovered a new piece of evidence. "Ambrose!" She cried, oh so carefully lifting the girl's fist and uncurling her stiffening fingers to get a closer look at the clue she had almost missed. Something green coated her small palm, and as she lightly touched her gloved thumb to the stain she observed that it was slightly sticky still.

As she looked up him, Dean's electric blue eyes sparkled with sudden shock. She stumbled over her next words, her voice shaking with a crazy kind of excitement that only a fellow detective could understand. "This is… w-we need to know what this is. I- I need a q tip and an evidence bag!"

Dean nodded, climbing carefully out of the ditch, "Roman!" he bellowed, and the big man jogged over to them. "We found something…" he began, stripping his gloves off with haste and running a hand through his tumbled blonde hair, suddenly revitalized by cautious hope. "I need to grab the evidence kit from my car, stay here with Maggie."

He wasn't about to leave her alone in the ditch with the body, not as the thick forest darkened steadily around them. In his excitement he didn't even realize it was the first time he hadn't referred to her by her last name.

Roman stood obligingly over the ditch as Dean made a hectic dash for his car to retrieve the black duffel bag that held his evidence kit. He gave a small smile to Maggie, still crouched in the ditch and tenderly holding the girl's hand up off of the dirt. "Good job, girl." He spoke softly, his pale grey eyes shining as he offered encouragement to the new detective.

Seth, who had by now finished taking statements from the witnesses, quickly bounded over to find out what the excitement was about. His warm brown eyes filled with compassion as he looked down into the ditch, and though his heart squeezed painfully again to see the tiny body he was relieved to see that at least they had found a new clue. Hopefully they would be once step closer to finding the psycho who had brutally murdered two children. "You okay, Maggie?" he called out softly, knowing that if their situations were reversed he'd be a frantic mess.

Maggie smiled up reassuringly, clinging to her desperate hope that this was just what they needed to give them a solid lead. She noticed vaguely that her body was shaking, and wondered whether it was the rush of adrenaline or merely the encroaching cold of the autumn night. "I'm fine, guys, thanks." She heard the sound of rapid footfalls above her as Dean returned, "I'll be a lot better once I can crawl out of this ditch."

Gracefully Dean climbed down to kneel beside her once more and passed over a long q tip. With her free hand Maggie carefully rolled it in the strange substance, soaking up as much as she could so that they would stand a chance at figuring out what it was. He held the evidence bag open for her as she dropped the q tip inside, and she let out a small sigh of relief. Slowly she rose to her feet, and when her cramped muscles protested and she stumbled Dean grabbed her gently by the arm, allowing her to regain her balance. The day had been a long one, and mentally they were both exhausted.

He passed the evidence bag to Seth and then climbed up, reaching a hand down to help Maggie. She was absurdly grateful, suddenly feeling the pain of her tender bare feet on the rocky ground. As he pulled her up she relished the feeling of his large, calloused hand enveloping her own, and when he released her she felt her palm still tingling from the contact. Vividly her face flushed crimson, but with the growing darkness she hoped no one would notice.

"That needs to get to the lab ASAP." She spoke, nodding to the tiny piece of evidence in Seth's grasp.

He nodded his understanding, "We'll take it for you. We'll be headed there anyway as soon as the forensic team gets here." Seth patted her gently on the back, somehow missing the suspicious glare Dean sent his way at the action. "You look like you need a soft bed."

"Thank you." Maggie smiled with as much warmth as she could muster after the heightened emotion of the crime scene. She retrieved her heels and struggled slightly to slip one on, wavering unsteadily on her abused feet.

With concern in his soft blue eyes, Dean once again reached out to steady her as she pulled her shoes back on. He surprised himself with the action, not quite sure at what point in the day he had warmed up so much to Miss Magnolia Michaels. He allowed her to lean against him for a moment, and forgot his own tiredness as the warmth from her touch spread throughout his body. She laughed, and it was like sweet music, brightening his hellish day with the pure, clear sound.

"You were right about the shoes, Dean. Next time I'll make sure I have a backup pair."

He smirked and had the sudden, ridiculous urge to pick her up off her feet and carry her to the car, but then she was standing on her own and he reluctantly released her. Immediately he regretted the loss of contact, and firmly shook his head to clear his mind. He didn't know why he was having such strong feelings for his new partner, and the last thing he wanted to do was fuck up a good partnership by trying to get her in bed. Yet as she began the walk back to his car he stared after her for a moment, doubting that his feelings were really just simple lust.

Roman caught the exchange between them, and when Maggie had passed out of hearing range he grinned at Dean, elbowing the slightly taller man good naturedly. "Well, well, I'll be damned if Mr. Hard Ass Detective doesn't have a crush on his pretty new partner." He and Seth chuckled as Dean's eyes sparked in irritation.

"Watch yourself, Reigns." He snapped as they began heading back toward the vehicles, "Don't think I haven't beat the hell out of friends before for talking shit."

Seth stopped abruptly and feigned shock, his brown eyes opening wide, "Wait, you expect us to believe we're not your first friends?"

At that, Roman and Seth erupted in laughter and Dean stalked away. "Blow me!" He called over his shoulder as he climbed back into his black Challenger. He was still cursing mildly under his breath and Maggie arched an eyebrow at him, but before she could say anything he loudly revved the engine and sped away.

* * *

When they finally arrived back at the station it was full dark, only the barest sliver of a crescent moon lighting the sky. The ride had been silent, but oddly enough it didn't feel uncomfortable. Dean chain smoked the whole way, craving nicotine to calm his emotions after such a roller coaster of a day. Maggie, meanwhile, rested her head against her seat belt and lost herself to her own thoughts. She nearly dozed off once or twice.

Dean pulled smoothly into his parking spot and they hopped out. They were both eager for this day to just end, but there would be no time for rest until they had updated Hunter. With a sigh Maggie turned to her partner and offered a smile, "Listen, if you want to call it a night I can handle talking to the Chief."

"You've got to be kidding me." He began, shaking his head at her with an amused smirk on his face. "We started this day together and that's how we'll end it. That's what 'partners' means, Mags." She blushed and smiled at the nickname, suddenly feeling warm despite the chilly night air.

Encouraged by her smile, Dean continued in a comically low voice, glancing theatrically around the parking lot as if he was looking for eavesdroppers, "Besides, they say after nightfall the Chief turns into a fearsome beast and devours any cop that looks at him funny. I can't leave you to face that all alone." He puffed his chest out heroically and Maggie giggled despite herself, clinging to his car for support as she lost her balance in laughter.

"Okay, okay…" she said as she caught her breath again, "Point taken. We go together."

* * *

Hunter was making his way through a large stack of overdue paperwork, his impatience evident on his face as he waited for his niece to return. As the minutes and hours ticked by he had been plagued by doubt, his creative imagination supplying scenarios in which his niece was incessantly harassed by Ambrose, hurt by Ambrose, or, in the worst case scenario, _seduced_ by Ambrose. And it would be all his fault, for sticking them together in the first place.

He certainly hadn't expected that she would be forced to confront another murder on her first day on the job. His temples throbbed and he was convinced he had screwed up royally. She had trusted him enough to move away from everything she knew and take a job in his department, and he had thrown her into the worse kind of situation imaginable. Granted, if she wasn't his niece and he was looking at this from a purely business standpoint, Maggie truly was the best detective for the case. Unfortunately, that did nothing to relieve the guilt gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

So it was with enormous relief and slight trepidation that he lurched from his chair and to the window at the sound of Ambrose's ridiculously loud muscle car. He watched with concern as Maggie climbed out, and noticed with surprise that though she looked exhausted, she also looked okay. With a grateful sigh he settled again at his desk and waited for them, hurriedly trying to make himself look busy, as if he hadn't spent the entire day fretting over her and shuffling papers around.

When the knock finally arrived at his office door he called out in his usual gruff voice, "Come in."

Maggie walked in first, and he frowned at how very sad her amber eyes looked. Yet she had a small smile on her face, and when Ambrose filed in after her they remained standing close to each other. Hunter narrowed his eyes in suspicion, remembering that just this morning they had been glaring daggers at one another.

"Chief," Maggie began, and though Hunter wanted nothing more than to give her a hug and tell her he was so sorry for sending her out there, he did his best to remain professional. Her voice was strong as she went on, "Roman and Seth were right in their suspicions. It looks like we have a serial killer on our hands."

Hunter frowned, his forehead wrinkling in thought. "We'll need an identity for our new victim. I'll ask Jericho to search the missing persons database and find us potential matches… Tell me we have some good news. Did you two find any leads in your investigation today?"

Dean frowned as he spoke up, "Nothing concrete. My gut tells me there's something going on out there that the neighbors weren't being completely honest about… and with a second body found in the same vicinity I'd say it's increasingly likely that our killer's home is in the area."

Hunter nodded, absorbing the new information. Despite his misgivings about Dean's character, he had absolute faith in the man as a detective.

Maggie spoke up again next, "We found one piece of unique evidence on the second body, a green liquid on the girl's palm. Hopefully it'll give us a lead, or at least a better idea of what we're dealing with. It's being taken to the lab for analysis."

Hunter's eyes widened, "Good. It's about time we started making some headway in this case." Suddenly he sighed heavily and held his head in his hands for a moment. "Annabelle Houston's parents went to the press today, to plead for information regarding their daughter's murder. With this second body being discovered… once we have an identity and the press realizes there's a serial killer in town, all hell is going to break loose."

He spared his detectives a look of compassion, "Be prepared for public pressure, and _lots_ of it. This is likely to go national. Just… try not to let it shake you. If we stand any chance at catching this guy before he strikes again, you both need to be on your game."

Maggie frowned and Dean nodded, his voice a confident growl as he spoke, "We got it. I don't plan on letting this asshole roam free for long."

Hunter opened his mouth, wanting desperately to say something more to his niece, but he couldn't find the right words. Instead he nodded at the both of them and brusquely said, "Good work today, Detectives. Go home, get some rest if you can. You'll need it." With a dismissive wave of his large hand he watched them exit the office.

Suddenly he was exhausted himself, and he popped a couple Tylenol with a hefty gulp of water, hoping naively that Stephanie wouldn't be too mad at him for missing another dinner.

* * *

A/N: Whoo, and the plot _thickens_. As always, thank you to all my readers, and an _extra extra_ special thanks to everyone who takes the time to review! I love you all. See you next chapter! ^_^


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Daddy Dearest

_She was eleven again. It was the anniversary of her mother's death, and as usual her father had drowned his sorrows in a fifth of cheap vodka. He lay face down on the couch, one hand still curled protectively around his empty bottle of booze. Magnolia made herself dinner, spaghetti and garlic bread, and sat down at the dirty kitchen table to eat. She had placed a framed photo of her mother in front of her, and as she ate she furiously wiped her tears on a paper napkin._

_It wasn't long before she had lost her appetite entirely, her father's drunken rumblings from the living room were too painful to ignore. "Magnolia!" He called hoarsely, and with a sigh she pushed herself away from the table and went to him._

"_Yes, Daddy?" She knelt by the couch and grimaced at the drool dangling from his open mouth._

"_Smells like food." He slurred at her, "Where's my food?" He lifted one arm to pat her on the head and, though he reeked of alcohol and body odor, she felt a momentary surge of love. Maybe tonight he would be nice. That still happened, sometimes._

"_Do you want a plate, Daddy? We-" she hiccoughed with emotion, "we could sit at the table together…?"_

_Bitterly he laughed, and the hand patting her head moved with a sudden, snakelike speed as he backhanded her roughly across the cheek. Tears stung her eyes as she clutched at her cheek and promptly she rose to her feet. It sickened her that she had gotten her hopes up._

"_Fuckin' bitch." She heard him grumble behind her, "I'm not moving from this couch 'till I get some MORE VODKA!" The last was a roar, and suddenly terrified that he would find the drunken strength to come after her, she ran back into the kitchen._

_With a sob she grabbed the photo of her mother and clutched it desperately to her chest, trying to bring back the memories of better times. Before her mother died, before her father fell apart, before-_

_With a crash the front door banged open, splintering apart around the deadbolt that she had turned herself. Frozen in fear, Magnolia listened carefully as intruders entered her home and harassed her father._

"_Well, well, now isn't this a surprise. George Henley passed out in a puddle of his own drool and filth."_

"_Leave me 'lone…" she heard her father mumble fearfully._

"_Oh, Georgie, that's not going to happen. Remember when you came to me for that loan? Remember how you begged and pleaded? You said you were good for it, Georgie, and I trusted you." His voice was dangerously cheerful._

_There was a harsh cry of pain from her father and Magnolia flew to the doorway, peeking one amber eye around the corner to see what was going on. Three men had entered the house, two of them obvious henchmen. The third man slowly surveyed the house as his lackeys kicked and abused her father._

"_This is a real shit hole you got here, Georgie! I guess you must have drank away all your valuables already. That's a real shame… you know if you can't pay me what you owe me… I'll have to let my friends here teach you a lesson."_

_At a nod from their leader, one of the burly men grabbed him by his hair and wrenched his head back painfully. Magnolia watched his drunken eyes roll about in terror as the other man seized his empty liquor bottle and smashed it over his head. Immediately the blood began to pour and she could take no more. Though she knew it would be wisest to run and hide, instead she charged into the room, tearfully pleading for her father's life._

"_No, no, stop it! Stop it, please…." She sobbed, throwing herself in front of her father, pitiful wretch that he was._

"_Hold up, boys." The man in charge spoke, a devilish light coming into his cruel eyes. "Maybe you can pay me back after all, Georgie…."_

_Magnolia trembled in fear, shaking her head wordlessly as the henchmen laughed at her._

_The leader patted her gently on the head before running his hand down to gently cup her still red cheek. She shrunk from his touch and turned back to her father. She shook him roughly, but the blow from the bottle had knocked him out cold and he would not wake._

"_Good news, little girl." She turned slowly back around at the sinister voice, finding a spark of bravery and facing the man in charge with a fierce glare. He laughed at her defiance and went on, "The good news is, you don't have to live with your deadbeat dad anymore!"_

_His henchmen laughed raucously at his joke, and Magnolia took a trembling step away from them. Then, with all the courage she could muster she sprinted for the back door. She took them by surprise, but unfortunately she was no match for their speed and strength. Suddenly a hand grabbed a fistful of her long hair and yanked her roughly onto her back. Her head bounced painfully off the hardwood floor, and bright stars danced in her vision._

_Then, suddenly, big hands held her down as some foul cloth was balled up and stuffed into her mouth. She screamed and clawed as they taped her mouth closed, and still they only laughed at her. She screamed and fought until her face was purple as they taped her wrists and ankles together. One of her wild kicks landed solidly, shattering one of the burly men's noses and bringing forth a torrent of blood. In response, he grabbed another fistful of her hair and slammed her head painfully back down onto the hardwood. That was enough to quiet her, and the world spun briefly before she disappeared into blackness…._

* * *

Maggie was crying and shaking when she woke up, and for a moment she expected to be right where the memory had left off, captive and afraid. Instead she managed to recognize Hunter's guest house, and with a shudder she realized she was safe. Safe… and alone. The tears began to flow with renewed vigor and she curled herself around her pillow, sobbing in silence.

She missed Shawn so much, the only father she ever wanted to remember, and the only one who could make her nightmares go away. Even more than the pain of losing him, it hurt to think that she had regressed so painfully back to her childhood fears. Surely the case wasn't helping, with all the grisly similarities. It was a harsh reminder that her own life could have been so easily snuffed out, her body discarded like a broken toy… if it hadn't been for Shawn and Hunter.

Maggie continued to cling to the pillow until the tears stopped flowing, and then she dragged herself slowly out of bed. She stumbled into the bathroom, her tired body protesting every step of the way. With shaky hands she turned the tap on and splashed her face with bitterly cold water. Gradually she gathered her strength and faced herself in the mirror. She had been saved, she reminded herself harshly, and she had moved on.

Every day she woke up breathing was a gift, and this case was only serving to remind her that so many others had been robbed of that chance. Her entire life since the rescue had been devoted to making her existence _mean_ something. If she could only rescue others, as Shawn and Hunter had rescued her… It was with that goal that she had started her career with the police, and as detective she had saved a number of people who would have otherwise become victims.

Still, it wasn't enough. Since Shawn had died and the nightmares had returned full force Maggie had felt so much like her eleven year old self again. She was agonizing over this case, and until it was solved she would continue to agonize over it. Two girls had lost their lives… two girls so much like she had been, stolen and alone and frightened and unable to fight back because someone wanted to hurt them and that someone was so much _bigger_ and_ stronger_.

With a heavy hearted sigh Maggie turned the tap off and dried her face. She just needed to get a hold of herself. Every minute the killer remained free he could be hurting someone else. Maggie would gladly give her life to see him caught, but she couldn't allow this case to consume her. She was no good to anyone if she was getting no sleep and jumping at shadows.

As she returned to the bedroom Maggie forced her mind to focus on more pleasant subjects. Surprisingly, the smirking face of Dean Ambrose was the first thing she thought of, and a smile lit up her tired eyes. Truly she had just met the man, and though she knew it was unwise to become so quickly attached to her new partner, she couldn't deny the bond that was forming between them.

With a glance at her alarm clock she realized it was only 3 AM, and she decided it would be worth it to try and go back to sleep. As she curled herself back into the soft bed her exhaustion quickly overtook her. Her last thoughts were of Dean, his almost painful good looks, his cocky smile, and his biting wit. She slipped back into slumber lost in the image of his bright blue eyes, and somehow, she made it through the next few hours without any nightmares.

* * *

Dean slipped on his sunglasses and stepped from his car into the bright early morning sunlight, headed for his regular coffee stop on the way to the station. Thankfully there was no line and the barista started on his usual order the moment he walked in. At the last minute he decided to order one extra coffee, one of those girly, frozen drinks with whipped cream and drizzled chocolate on top.

Ten minutes later and he was pulling smoothly into the parking lot at the station. He killed the engine and took a moment to sit in the silence of his car, preparing for the day and whatever hell may be coming his way. As he sat there, a battered black sedan puttered its way onto the lot and he smirked, knowing it was Maggie's. Somehow the day felt a little brighter already as he watched her lock up her car and walk inside, dressed sharply in a cream colored pantsuit that managed to hug her curves in all the right places.

Suddenly eager to make it inside himself, he snagged his two coffees and exited the car.

"Hey, Dean!" he heard the call from behind and Seth Rollins quickly jogged up to him.

"Seth." He nodded in greeting and they fell into step together. "Did you make it in time to drop off the evidence last night?"

Seth nodded, busily pulling his two toned hair back into a ponytail. "Yeah, Daniel was just about to leave for the night but I convinced him it was important enough to stay late."

Dean rolled his eyes, "He should be grateful it wasn't me that came knocking. I sure as hell wouldn't have been nice about it." He pulled open the heavy door to the station and they filed inside.

"Right. Once I threatened him with your ungodly wrath he was more than happy to take the time."

Dean smirked at his friend, "You jest, but I woulda kicked his ass for sure. You know, for the greater good and all that."

"Oh Dean, you're such an honorable detective." Seth said in a falsetto and mockingly batted his eyelashes. He was rewarded with a fierce glare. "Come on now, just pretend I'm Maggie."

"That's it, Seth, you're officially on my shit list today." With that, he stalked away and up the staircase, Seth's laughter following him the whole way.

* * *

Maggie was sitting at her desk and putting together the file on their second victim. She also added in the notes she had taken from their interviews yesterday. Mostly she was waiting in grim anticipation for Detective Jericho to find the girl's identity so that her parents could be notified. Then they would have to come identify the body, and… slowly Maggie set her pen down and closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands. Depression wasn't going to help her solve this case. With fierce resolve she regained her focus and finished her notes.

She nearly jumped when a muscular arm reached over her shoulder and deposited a coffee on the desk in front of her. Not just any coffee, either, but a deliciously frozen concoction full of sugar, cream, coffee, and more sugar. Just the way she liked it. With an undignified squeal of delight she took a long drink from the straw, and it was heavenly. She could practically feel the caffeine begin to buzz through her veins.

"Thank you, thank you." She purred, and as Dean walked around her desk to take a seat at his own she blushed at his smug smile. "Damn," she said after another long drink, "I really needed this."

Dean laughed and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "I was half tempted to dump it on you, you know. But only half tempted."

She laughed despite herself at the memory of yesterday's coffee fiasco, "I suppose I should be grateful. It's not like I have a clean shirt to change into."

At that Dean's eyebrows quirked in amusement, "I doubt you'd get many complaints if you walked around topless."

She nearly choked on a slurp of her coffee and flushed a fierce crimson. Unfortunately she couldn't produce a comeback quickly enough and Dean snickered at her embarrassment. She was only saved from the moment as Detective Jericho finally sauntered over to her desk, and the frown on his face brought them both back to more serious thoughts.

"Hey Maggie, Dean. I think I found your match." he sighed, placing a single printed page on her desk. It was a missing persons report. Paper clipped to it was a small photograph that immediately caught her eye.

"Fuck," she mumbled softly, "that's her…" The photo was a school picture, and the sunny looking blonde girl on it beamed brightly at the camera with chocolate brown eyes and a toothy grin.

Dean picked up the paper and studied the sparse information printed there. "Olivia Carter, eleven years old." He muttered angrily, and one of his hands clenched tightly into a fist. "Goddamn it. Have the parents been notified yet?"

Chris nodded sadly, "I took the liberty of going out there myself to let them know. They're headed down to identify the body now."

Maggie fiddled compulsively with her long braided hair and gave the older detective a grateful look, "Thanks, Chris." She spoke softly.

"No problem, Maggie. Unfortunately…" He grimaced and set something else on her desk, the morning's newspaper. "You guys are going to have the press on your asses by the end of the day."

Her amber eyes widened as she took in the front page of the paper. Underneath one of the last photos of a smiling Annabelle Houston the headline read: **'Spokane Serial Killer on the Loose'**.

She groaned in horror at the printed page and quickly scanned the article. The press had found out about the second victim, and it was easy enough to connect the dots. The article was brief but alarming, and Maggie winced when she read her own name as well as Dean's printed as the 'team handling the investigation.' Clearly the journalist had a source in the department.

"Fuckin' fear mongers." Dean cursed, "This is the last thing I want to deal with right now."

Chris gave a rather weak attempt at a reassuring smile and rested his hand gently on Maggie's, though he withdrew it with haste at a sharp look from Dean. He coughed to cover the awkward moment, and with genuine compassion he spoke, "I just figured someone should give you guys a heads up before a crowd gathers outside demanding information."

Dean nodded, his eyes softening just a little. He did have a grudging respect for the man, even if he found him annoying as hell. "Yeah, we appreciate it."

Maggie rested her head wearily on her desk and mumbled a thank you. Now they would have to waste precious time on a press conference, and if the investigation went on much longer… the public would crucify them. Jericho ambled back to his own desk, feeling rather depressed at being the bearer of more bad news.

Dean ran a hand over his slicked back hair and glanced at Maggie. His blue eyes warmed suddenly, and with concern he reached out to gently squeeze her shoulder. She looked up the instant she felt his touch, and her eyes gleamed with some strong emotion as they met his. They sat frozen in that moment until Dean reluctantly broke the contact. His voice was low and earnest as he spoke, "Don't worry, Mags. Nothing's gonna stop us catching this asshole."

It was like a jolt of electricity when she rewarded his effort with a soft smile and his gaze was drawn again to her pink lips. Somehow he forced himself to look back at his desk and he took a long drink of coffee, his throat suddenly dry.

"You're right." She sighed and quickly added their new information, everything about little Olivia Carter, to the case file. Dean leaned toward her and they studied the file together, looking for anything to link the two victims together. "They went to different schools," she muttered, "lived in different parts of town…"

Maggie frowned, studying the missing persons report, "It says here Olivia left home headed for a local store to buy some candy… parents said it was five blocks away, and a regular thing. She just didn't come back home the last time."

Suddenly Dean sat bolt upright, struck by a moment of inspiration. His brow furrowed as he turned to his computer and pulled up a map. He smoothly typed in Olivia's home address and as it displayed he smirked in triumph. "Bingo. Olivia lived two blocks away from Franklin Park. It's on the way to the store… she must have crossed through the park a million times to get there. Not the same one Annabelle was snagged from, but I doubt it's a coincidence. I think we just found our killer's M.O."

Maggie grinned at Dean, suddenly feeling like they were making headway. "There's something to give the press. We'll have to warn parents away from letting their kids hang out in the parks alone."

Dean nodded, but before he could say anything further they were interrupted by the chorus of a Led Zeppelin song. Maggie couldn't help but giggle a little as he frantically dug in his pocket for his cell phone. Finally he pulled it out and checked the caller id before answering, his expression suddenly serious.

"Give me some good news, Daniel."

"_Hey to you too, Dean. Anyway the analysis is complete on your mystery substance."_

"Good, whaddaya got?" he growled.

"_It's weed killer. Professional grade. Can't tell you anything more than that."_

Dean's eyes sparkled with thought as he curtly replied, "Thanks for rushing that analysis, Daniel."

"_Yeah, well, I hope it was important. See you arou-"_

Dean snapped the cell phone closed and smirked with confidence at his partner. "Weed killer, Mags, that's what was on her hand."

Maggie's eyes shot wide open, "We- we need to start interviewing groundskeepers!" she gushed in a wave of excitement, suddenly feeling more like a hunter and less like she was chasing her own tail.

Dean nodded, "Every one in the whole goddamn city if that's what it takes." He grinned, "Now let's get moving before we have to push our way through the press to get outside."

* * *

"Nothing, fucking nothing!" Dean growled as they climbed back into his Challenger, slamming the door a little too roughly. The day had burned out to darkness around them as they scoured the city, interviewing every groundskeeper, landscape artist, and maintenance worker. They even tracked down the retired ones… anyone they could think of who had access to professional grade weed killer.

Maggie sighed in frustration. Every one they had interviewed had an alibi for the time of either one or both murders, and they all willingly complied to a search of their homes and vehicles. Somehow, despite their best efforts they had turned up nothing. No new clues, no new suspects, not even the slightest _hunch. _It felt like a wasted day.

"We must have missed someone." She spoke, her own voice filled with anger at their lack of progress. "Maybe it's not even related. Shit, maybe she just tripped in the park and got some on her hand."

Dean shook his head vehemently, his wavy blonde hair refusing to stay slicked back and tumbling loosely about his face. "No way, Maggie. We're fucking _right_ about this, I can feel it. Half these guys drive around in vans, for Christ sake, nobody would think twice to see one at the parks. It's practically the perfect kidnapping vehicle."

She nodded, knowing that he was right. Her own instincts were screaming that they were on the right track, even though they had nothing to show for it. A dull headache began throbbing in her temples. "Where the hell do we go from here…?" She mumbled sadly.

Suddenly a chime issued from her pocket and Maggie pulled out her own cell phone, frowning that she had missed three text messages. As she quietly read them she felt the blood drain from her face and her heart began pounding in her chest.

_I heard about Shawn. You can't hide from me any more Magnolia_

_You ruined my life you ungrateful bitch_

_I wish you were dead_

With a shiver she stuffed her phone back into her pocket and took a shuddering breath. There was only one person who would have sent her those hateful messages. There was only one person who had always called her Magnolia. She didn't know how her birth father had gotten her number, but she forced herself to calm down with the thought that he was surely still in San Francisco. Violently she missed Shawn again, and her eyes filled with bitter tears.

Dean noticed her distress immediately and frowned, the urge to comfort her stronger than he could have anticipated. He narrowed his eyes at her cell phone as she re pocketed it, wondering what could have upset her. When he spoke, his gravelly voice was almost gentle. "You okay, Mags?"

Maggie tried to blink her tears away and took a deep breath, "I'm fine, it's nothing." She refused to let Dean worry over her when they had bigger issues to deal with.

After Shawn had adopted her, she had been given a restraining order against her birth father and she hadn't seen or heard from him since. There was no point in letting him get to her now. Besides, if he even _did_ come to Spokane to harass her, she could certainly handle herself better now than she could as a child. There was no need to fear him anymore.

Dean leaned a bit closer to her, and in an overwhelming surge of protectiveness he delicately grabbed her chin and forced her watery amber eyes to meet his own. "Nothing doesn't usually make people cry."

He spoke softly, wanting more than anything for her to confide in him so that he could make her feel better. There was so much about her that he didn't know. He moved his hand from her chin and rested it lightly on her shoulder.

At Dean's gentle touch she nearly lost control and told him everything. Though they had known each other for such a short time, she almost painfully longed to just throw herself into his arms and cry. Yet… she just couldn't stand the thought of him seeing her as weak, so she quirked her lips into a smile and got a hold of herself. He was the best partner she had ever had, and there was no way she was going to lose his respect by turning into a crybaby.

"It's okay, Dean. I just- I just heard from someone I haven't seen in a very long time." She did her best to sound light hearted and failed, but desperately she hoped he would take her at her word. They didn't have the time to go over her fucked up past right now.

Still frowning slightly, Dean nodded with doubt and decided not to push the issue. Whatever it was that bothered her so much was buried deep, and he knew all too well how much it hurt to open up old wounds. "Alright. But…" he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, "You shouldn't be afraid to talk to me. We need to be able to trust each other."

Maggie nodded. She was too afraid to speak again for fear that she would blurt out the whole ugly mess, so instead she just offered him a smile.

Dean lit up a cigarette and started his car, trying to ignore the instinct that something was very wrong. Unfortunately, he was terrible at ignoring his instincts. Even as he forced his mind back to the urgency of their case, his thoughts continually returned to Maggie and the heart broken look in her beautiful amber eyes.

* * *

A/N: Holy hell, that chapter wound up much longer than I thought it would. Dun dun dunnn.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Okay it's been way too long since I updated. I'm so sorry! Real life stuff came up all at once and bit me on the ass, and it's taken me a long time to get back to being motivated enough to work on this story. A super heartfelt thanks to everyone who reads this story! It will be finished, I promise. It means so much to me to know that people are enjoying it, so please review!

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Chapter 7: A Flash Of Steel

It had been three long days since they had made any headway in the case. Three agonizing days full of interviews, research, and concerned parents crowded outside the station demanding answers. The journalists were having a field day, and they circled like hyenas around a fresh carcass. Hunter had held a press conference himself to try to keep their fevered curiosity at bay, but after three long days with no new leads the press had become relentless. The carcass had been picked clean and without new meat to throw them they were going to incite the public into riot.

And why shouldn't they? Bitterly Maggie rested her head on the desk in her room and turned her tired eyes to the clock. The display read 2:28 am, and the bright red numbers stayed burned on the back of her eyelids as they slowly closed, feeling impossible heavy. Her cheek rested on the open case file, now filled with endless pages of speculation and notes that she and Dean had been tormenting themselves over for three days. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard her cell phone vibrating restlessly on the desk, but exhaustion had already claimed her and she fell unwillingly into a deep slumber.

Unfortunately it didn't last long; Maggie was drug abruptly from her dreams by some faraway commotion that her brain didn't quite have the power to analyze. The digital clock read 4:41 am. Sleepily she rubbed the paper creases from her cheek, thankful that at least she hadn't drooled all over the case file. The flashing light from her cell phone caught her attention and she reached for it with grim anticipation, already knowing who her latest messages were from.

The texts from her father hadn't stopped, and somehow had continued to grow only nastier as he sought to vent the frustration of his ruined life on the daughter who had managed to escape it. She flipped the phone open with one hand as she ran the other shakily through her unbound hair.

_I never could get you to shut up when you were a brat, Magnolia. Now I can't even get a hello?_

_We need to talk. You just don't understand_

_You RUINED me bitch you don't deserve to be happy_

_knock knock_

Her amber eyes were wide with horror as she read the last message over and over again, and suddenly the noise from outside was all too clear. It was Hunter, his voice a barely restrained bellow, thick with anger. Swallowing her fear, Maggie nearly tripped over herself in her haste to get outside and see for herself. She paused only once, when the glint of her service pistol caught her eye and after only a moment's hesitation she picked it up and sprinted out the front door of the guest house. The sight that greeted her knocked the air from her lungs and she managed only a few shaking steps before she froze like a deer in headlights.

In that one agonizing instant she saw every tiny detail – Hunter, looking as brave and intimidating as she had ever seen him, using his body as a rather literal barricade. Behind him, standing on the steps to the main house, was Stephanie. She was tense with anger, her own eyes flashing dangerously as she kept one hand firmly on the doorknob and the other held her cell phone to her ear. _She's calling for backup,_ Maggie realized dimly.

Directly in front of Hunter, and looking as though he had stepped straight from her nightmares into reality, cowered the man she had once called her father. He had changed very little since she had last seen him. His eyes were dark with malevolence, rolling wildly about in his attempt to look anywhere but at Hunter. He was mumbling something incoherent and scuffing his dirty shoes in the grass. His shirt had the appearance that it may once have been rather nice, but now it was smeared with too many stains to count, and missing so many buttons that it blew open in the breeze. In her paranoia she could smell him from across the yard – vodka and vomit… the smell of her childhood.

Maggie snapped back to her senses just as his hate filled amber eyes locked on her own. For a second, they sparkled with triumph and he cried out, "I _knew_ it, pig! I knew you were hiding her!"

Hunter whirled with surprise, his eyes full of concern, and her father suddenly bolted past him in a surge of drunken strength. He stumbled as he ran, but he looked almost giddy, like a child who has caught a butterfly and is seized with the sick desire to rip its wings off.

Several things happened in the very next moment; the sound of police sirens began a distant wail, just as Hunter bolted into action and attempted to grab her father from behind. Unfortunately, he tripped just as Hunter's hand was reaching for his shirt and he tumbled gracelessly to the ground at Maggie's slipper clad feet. It was as if she was watching the entire event from somewhere far away, and with cold clarity she realized she had raised her gun.

The sound of the safety clicking back seemed to echo in her ears, but her hand was steady as she aimed the gun at the man sprawled at her feet.

"Maggie, it's okay-" Hunter began, his voice suddenly calm and reassuring. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized it was how he spoke during hostage situations. "Backup is on their way right now. He's in violation of his restraining order, he'll be arrested."

"Arrested…" her voice sounded hollow to her own ears as her mind mercilessly flashed with old memories, still painful after so many years. "He put your family in danger… because he wants _me_, Hunter."

Slowly her father raised his head, staring down the barrel of the gun like it was nothing more than a water squirter. He lifted one filthy hand and grabbed the hem of her nightgown, fixing her with a glare that would have sent her running when she was a child. "You-" he growled out, "you rotten little bitch. Everything is _your fault_! We were a family, but you" he hiccoughed, and he raised himself shakily until he was kneeling in front of her. "_You left me to suffer!_" Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed at her, his eyes feverishly bright "_I _was punished, because _you _were just a stupid little _whore_ and got yourself-"

Hunter's fist collided solidly with the back of his head, cutting off any further ranting, and the shell of the man she had once called Daddy flopped limply forward onto the grass. As if on cue, the sirens reached a shrill crescendo and two police cruisers swung neatly into the driveway. Maggie remained fixed to the spot, as though her father's crazed eyes were still searing into her, his vehement words echoing around in her sleep deprived mind. She didn't even realize she was still holding the gun up until Hunter's hand gently seized her own, and he pried the pistol from her tense grip.

He pulled her forward into an embrace, and Maggie realized suddenly that he had been terrified. She wondered bleakly what had frightened him more, his family being put in danger… or the thought that she might become a murderer on his front lawn. But then he pulled back and as his watery eyes locked on hers she felt the cold wall that had been holding her emotions back shatter. She cried in his arms for what felt like an eternity but really only lasted a couple of minutes; just long enough for a pair of officers to drag her handcuffed father into their cruiser and take off again, no doubt directed by Stephanie to get the filth off of her property as soon as possible. Hunters hand soothingly stroked her hair, just as he had done when she had first met him. It was that action, oddly enough, that brought her back to the present moment.

She was a child no longer… and the woman she had grown to become was too strong to fall apart now. With a deep breath she pulled away from his embrace, but gave his hand a grateful squeeze as he returned her gun. Only one cruiser remained, and she realized with mild horror that it belonged to Reigns and Rollins, and they leaned casually against it at the edge of the driveway, no doubt waiting for them to give some kind of statement about the events of the early morning.

As her eyes locked with Romans steely grey gaze he pushed away from the cruiser and strode confidently across the grass towards her, Seth just a half step behind him. She felt a moment's dismay that this would probably change the way they thought about her. No more cool, confident Detective Michaels. Now they'd only see her as the sad, vulnerable little girl Hunter and Shawn had taken pity on so long ago. With a sharp shake of her head she dismissed those thoughts and wiped the tears from her face. She managed a shaky, but honest smile and was rewarded when Seth reached out a hand to reassuringly squeeze her shoulder.

"Yeah, so…" he began, flipping his notebook open and glancing quickly between her and Hunter, "that looked pretty scary."

Roman nodded, his eyes full of curiosity but also the wisdom that he probably shouldn't ask the questions he wanted to. "What's the story?"

"Well, I-" Maggie began, but was smoothly interrupted by Hunter.

"Broken restraining order, boys. Detective Michaels…" here he paused, looking for the right choice of words, "and myself managed to restrain the suspect until you arrived. Get that guy in front of a judge ASAP and make sure you push for jail time. If we're lucky, maybe he's got some outstanding warrants in California and we can ship him back to be their problem."

Roman nodded and recorded carefully in his notebook. "You got it, Chief."

Seth gave her a slow, thoughtful look before he turned to Hunter, "I don't know the history here, but I'd say it's unlikely any judge is going to lock him up for long just based on what happened this morning." He shrugged, but looked genuinely apologetic, "Considering he was unarmed… and especially if he mentions he was held at gunpoint."

Maggie blanched but held her composure. He was right, of course. Broken restraining orders were a fairly commonplace occurrence, and this was after all the first time he had dared to break it. He'd likely spend a day in jail and then the judge would order him released with a warning.

Hunter sighed, and for the first time that morning she noticed he looked as tired as she felt, "I know what it looked like when you got here… but criminal record or not, that guy is one of the biggest scumbags I've ever come across and I don't think he's going to give up with a warning." He turned to look at Maggie, his eyes warm, "He probably will be released. If and when that happens, I'm going to have to insist that you don't go anywhere alone. You're safe here, and at the precinct, but I want another officer with you at all times if you go anywhere else."

Maggie's eyes went wide with shock. "That's a little much, Hu- Chief. I can take care of myself now."

Hunter smiled then, and his eyes filled with a faraway sadness, "I know you can. But we were damn close to a much worse situation this morning."

She remembered the cold feel of the pistol in her hands, and the motion of her thumb robotically releasing the safety. The realization hit suddenly that he wasn't afraid for her _safety_ so much as he was afraid of her doing something she would regret. And she couldn't deny that seeing her father again had sliced right through her normally rigid self-control. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and nodded, "Fine. But I don't want any focus put on this… I have a case to work on and the less distractions I have to deal with, the better."

Hunter nodded and looked noticeably relieved as he turned back to Reigns and Rollins. "Okay boys, official statement is that George Henley" involuntarily she shuddered at the mention of her father's name, "violated his restraining order this morning in an attempt to see or possibly harm Maggie. He was restrained by myself and the detective while my wife called for backup. You're dismissed to go about your duties now." With that, he turned to go back to his house and, no doubt, comfort his severely pissed off wife.

Just as he reached the door, however, he turned back and called out, "I take it I don't need to tell you that this whole thing needs to be kept under wraps. If I hear the _slightest_ bit of office gossip about it…" He fixed Seth and Roman with his most menacing glare and then promptly went inside, the door slamming securely behind him.

Maggie watched the two officers she had regarded as early friends pull away in their cruiser, suddenly wanting nothing more than to forget the entire situation happened. She wondered if Hunter's threat would be enough to stop them from mentioning something to Dean, but somehow she doubted it. As she made it back to her bedroom she saw with horror that it was now after 5 am. All thoughts of sleep forgotten, she quickly made for the shower. As she pulled her nightgown over her head she noticed that her father had indeed left a grimy, smeared hand print behind on the hem, and with a wave of violent nausea she tossed the garment into the trash bin.

She cranked the water on as hot as she could stand and scrubbed furiously until her skin was pink, and mentally she scrubbed her mind of the events of the morning. She spent as long as she dared in the shower, already knowing that she was going to be late to work. Forgoing her usual habit of blow drying and braiding her hair, she hurriedly toweled off and dressed in a bottle green pant suit, taking just a moment to brush some concealer over the bags under her eyes and adding a bit of mascara and lipstick.

It was 5:42 by the time she made it back to her desk to retrieve the case file, and her eyes fell upon her open cell phone, still lying on the desk and displaying her text messages. Seized by sudden impulse she picked it up and snapped it fiercely in half before tossing it into the trash on top of her nightgown. Suddenly she felt nothing but confidence, grabbing the case file and hurrying to her car. Somehow she had a good feeling about today… a tickle in the back of her mind that told her they were going to get some kind of a break in the case.

* * *

Maggie made the drive to the station in record time, but she was still fifteen minutes late. As her tired buick puttered into its parking spot she noticed Dean waiting for her in the parking lot, smoking and tapping his foot impatiently against the pavement. When she swung her door open and climbed out she was seized with the momentary fear that perhaps Seth or Roman had already spoken to him. She could just imagine his fury at finding out what had happened, that she had been keeping it all secret from him…

She pasted on a hesitant smile and was just about to start explaining it all away when he impatiently stomped his cigarette out on the ground. "You're late, Mags." He spoke, low and gravelly, and as always her heart gave a tiny lurch at the sound of his nickname for her. Then he approached her and suddenly her mind went blank to everything but the sensation of his closeness, the intensity in his blue eyes, and his _scent…_ tobacco, soap, musk… she felt momentarily intoxicated.

Slowly he moved his hands and placed them gently on her upper arms, and she snapped herself out of her girlish reverie when he spoke again, "I got a call late last night from Judith Keats, remember her?"

Maggie's eyes widened and something like excitement got the wheels in her head turning, "Of course. The little old lady who lives in the woods?"

Dean smirked and dropped one of his hands, guiding her with the other one towards his car in the parking lot. He looked as if he was about to say more, but suddenly a rather industrious reporter was standing in their way, and a couple more were not far behind him.

"Detective Ambrose, Detective Michaels, I have some questions for you about the investigation…" he was slightly out of breath, just a rookie with a tape recorder, and his bright brown eyes were eager for information. "The public is in outcry about this whole terrible situation. Can you tell me if you have any new leads?" He shoved his tape recorder tactlessly in Maggie's face, but before she had time to do more than splutter with indignation Dean had tightened his grip on her arm and he steered them deftly around the growing crowd with nothing more than a deathly glare for the bold reporter.

They were running by the time they made it to his Challenger, and Maggie had never been more grateful to sink into the soft leather interior. Dean turned the key and the engine roared to life, sending the journalists scurrying back. Despite herself, Maggie let out a little laugh at the sight and clicked her seatbelt into place just as the car pulled smoothly out of the lot. "So," she began, turning her gaze back to Ambrose, "Mrs. Keats has more information for us?"

Dean nodded, a cocky half smile on his face, "She's been watching the news. Guess something jogged her memory."

Maggie wondered what she could possible want to tell them… what could be so important to call them back now, and what held her back from telling them in the first place? Just as her mind was racing with questions, Dean spoke again, shooting a sidelong glance at her as he pulled onto the highway and revved the car up to 70.

"So why were you late? You looked a little shook up when you got here." For a moment his eyes held her own, and she hurriedly turned her gaze away. Every time he gave her that look… it was like he could see into her soul, and the truth came bubbling up like bile.

"Just took a long shower this morning." She told a half truth and kept her gaze averted, "I'm just sleep deprived, that's all." The urge to confide in him was overwhelming, but this was not the time. They had a case to focus on, and she'd be damned before she let herself become a distraction to him. Besides, it was in the past now. Her father was sitting in a jail cell somewhere waiting to see a judge, and he'd probably never be bold enough to try to get to her again.

Dean watched the road, and he took so long to reply that she thought he wasn't going to. When he did speak, his words were chosen carefully, "Something serious is bothering you. Whatever it is, if it's not gonna get in the way of us solving this case, then… I won't push it." He shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke slowly out the window. "I just can't shake this feeling-" He stumbled a bit over his words and she turned her wide eyes toward him, "-its like, there's something wrong and it's killing me not to _know_, you know?" He laughed lightly and shot her a smile, and her breath was taken away at the sight, "I guess I've never felt that way before, Mags."

She dropped her gaze and looked guiltily into her lap. "It's… really nothing. Just some stuff that hasn't bothered me in a very long time. It all kind of reared its ugly head this morning, figuratively speaking." Again she was lost in the sensation of the cold steel in her hand and her father's hate-filled eyes, the very same color as her own. Her finger was on the trigger-

Maggie shoved those thoughts away and turned back to Dean, "I promise I won't take my mind out of the game. Nothing matters to me more than this case right now."

To her immense relief, Dean nodded his understanding. "That's good. Same here. It's just, I didn't ask because I was worried about the case. I asked…" He paused for a long moment, taking another drag off the cigarette like it was the only thing keeping him going, "…because I was worried about _you_, Mags."

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A/N: Okay, super dramatic chapter there so I had to end it on a *squeal* feel good moment. :3


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Challenge Accepted

The drive to Judith Keats' property passed by in companionable silence, but Dean couldn't help stealing glances at Maggie in the passenger seat. The shadows under her eyes grew darker each day, and he found himself wondering again what could have happened to torment her so. His hands tightened compulsively on the steering wheel as he swung neatly off the highway and onto the back road that would lead them to their destination. In the early morning light the dirt road was blanched a dusty white, and it twisted away into the forested mountains like something out of a fairy tale.

It was beautiful, and so easy to forget that it was on this lonely stretch of road that two little girls had been found, brutally tortured and robbed of life. He lit another cigarette and pushed his car a little faster, leaving great clouds of dust billowing behind them. The roar of the muscle car's engine helped to drown out the buzzing in his head as he once again turned over in his mind all the facts and speculation they had gathered thus far.

He knew in his gut that their killer was out here somewhere, living quietly in the woods. Maybe he owned a landscaping or a maintenance business… maybe he was everybody's favorite neighbor… maybe he had a wife, or kids of his own. Did anyone suspect that they were living next to a monster? Was there anyone who knew that there was something sinister going on, hidden amongst the emerald pine trees? Judith Keats had the answers he was looking for, he could feel it in his bones. Hell, he could see it in her eyes the day she curtly dismissed them and retreated into the sanctuary of her home. She knew something. Something horrible.

Dean's mind wandered back to his other interviews that day. Had any of the other neighbors been holding something back? He thought of the massive Brock Lesnar, who had all but hidden behind his too-smooth landlord, Paul Heyman. Could he be the killer? He had more than enough brute strength… and his cold blue eyes had held plenty of anger when he found a pair of detectives at his door. Dean stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. Depending on what Mrs. Keats had to say today, perhaps it would be a good idea to question Heyman and Lesnar once again. After all, Heyman had spent his entire childhood up on the mountain. Surely he knew more than he was letting on…

Dean sighed and forced his mind to clear. It would do no good to get his thoughts in a jumbled mess today. This interview was too important. He stole another glance at Maggie and was surprised at how much it calmed him just to be in her presence. There was something about her, some intangible strength of spirit that called out to his own. Fuck, there was another dangerous avenue of thought. How had he found himself growing so attached to his new partner so quickly? He let his blue eyes sweep over her, from the tiny freckles that dusted her nose down to her sensible leather shoes. With her long hair down she looked so fragile and small. He wondered again what would make a girl like her pick a grisly career like homicide detective.

"Dean? This is her driveway." Maggie's voice cut abruptly into his thoughts and he cursed mildly, slowing the car down just in time to make the right turn. When he glanced back at her she was looking intently at him, her big amber eyes piercing straight through as though she could read his mind. For an instant she looked as though she wanted to say something important, but then Mrs. Keats' lonely little house came into view and she turned abruptly away, her face suddenly unreadable.

"You ready for this, Mags?" he inquired, reaching across her to open the glove box and retrieve his sunglasses. She reached in at the same time for his notebook and their fingers lightly brushed, sending the now familiar jolt of warmth up his arm and straight to his heart. For a moment she looked flustered, and he realized that she must have felt it too.

But then she was all composure again, offering him her cockiest smile as she replied, "More than ready, Dean. This is the break we need. I know it is."

"Damn right. It's about time we caught this psycho."

* * *

Maggie climbed slowly out of the Challenger, facing the house in front of them like it was a direct obstacle in between her and her target. Judith Keats was finally ready to give them the answers they should have gotten to begin with. Dean set forward ahead of her and she fell into step behind him, ascending the wooden steps to the front door and waiting with electrified nerves as he knocked imposingly. They barely had to wait before it opened, old hinges protesting loudly, and the diminutive figure that appeared in front of them had changed somehow in the mere days since they had seen her last.

Judith Keats appeared to have aged drastically. Her wispy white hair was thinner, and the heavy bags under her eyes were drooping to a new low. She looked tired, and more than a little afraid. "Detectives," she spoke, her voice sad and small, "you can come on in."

She stood to the side as Dean and Maggie filed into the house, which despite its cheerful and homey interior seemed to be filled with reminders of her loneliness. There were pictures on every surface of children and grandchildren, framed diplomas on the walls, and a pile of paperback novels stacked next to a faded armchair. The TV was on but muted, and the morning sunlight filtering through the dusty windows gave the room an eerie golden glow.

Mrs. Keats led them to her dining room and took a seat at the long table. Maggie noticed that she had set a tea service out, delicate white china with a pattern of tiny yellow roses.

"Tea?" Judith asked, pouring herself a cup.

"Yes, please." Maggie spoke. It would do good to put the old woman at ease if they were going to get any information out of her.

Dean shook his head, and pulled out a chair for Maggie before taking a seat himself. Judith pushed a cup of tea in her direction and she obligingly took a sip, savoring the warmth. Time to get down to why they were here. "So, Judy, you remembered something that might be important to our case?"

The woman nodded, keeping her grey eyes on her cup of tea. "Yes, I… I wanted to tell you a story from when I was much younger. I think… that it might be important to tell you."

Dean's brow furrowed in thought but he remained silent, so Maggie spoke up gently, "Go on, please."

Judith took a shuddering breath that seemed to rattle her weary frame and continued, "There is another property bordering mine to the North. When I was a girl it belonged to a man named Paul Bearer, and his two sons. Paul was a nice enough man. Very quiet, but so is everyone out here, you know." She took a long sip of tea and another shaky breath, "His sons… they were quite a bit younger than me, so we didn't have much interaction. One summer, when I was in my late twenties, a young cousin came to stay with us. She was a sweet thing, ten years old, and she loved it out here in the country.

"She used to go for long walks in the woods and bring a bouquet of wild flowers home with her. One day she found a lost puppy and she brought it back, and even though my parents wanted nothing to do with owning a dog, she pouted and cried until they let her keep it. She was so happy…" Her eyes watered suddenly and her voice broke as she went on, "I- I know that on one of her walks she strayed onto Mr. Bearer's property, and she… befriended… his sons. They were just about her age. She thought they were strange, but she was such a curious and trusting girl, she never would have thought-"

All at once there were heavy tears streaming down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands and wept. Dean's face softened slightly and he leaned toward her across the table. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm, "I know this is hard for you, Mrs. Keats, but if there's even a chance that what you know can help us catch this child murderer…" he let his last sentence linger, as her sobbing gradually lessened. When she looked back up at them, her eyes were faraway but her voice was strong.

"One day she came home in hysterics. At first she just shook and cried for hours, and wouldn't tell us what had frightened her. Finally she broke down and she said… she said that she ran into the younger Bearer boy while she was walking through the woods with her puppy. Blossom." She smiled, and it was the saddest smile Maggie had ever seen, "Blossom was the puppy's name. She told us… the boy was trying to scare her. He pushed her hard and she fell, and then he- he grabbed her puppy around its throat and strangled it, laughing. He threatened her that if she told anyone he would do the same to her. She left to go back to her parents the very next day."

Dean's body became suddenly tense as he processed this information. "How old would this boy be today, Mrs. Keats?"

She stopped to consider the question, "I suppose he would be… nearly fifty? His father, Paul, passed away just a few years ago. I believe he and his brother still live on the property, but I'm just not sure."

Maggie glanced down at her notebook, which she had filled in almost mechanically with the sad story, "Do you know what the brothers' names are, Judy?"

She nodded, "I knew them as Mark, the eldest, and Glen, the younger. But… when they were children they made up nicknames and insisted that they be called by them. Undertaker and Kane…" Her voice was almost a whisper as she spoke, as if she was afraid she could summon the ghosts of her past merely by speaking their names. "I didn't mention this before, because I just didn't want to believe such an old incident could have anything to do with those terrible murders. But then… I was watching the press conference when I heard Chief Helmsley mention that you were investigating groundskeepers."

Maggie frowned and glanced up at the old woman, her pen frozen on the notebook page. Dean pushed back from the table and stood, "Mrs. Keats," He began, his voice practically shaking with restrained emotion, "why did that trigger your memory? What is it that we need to know?"

Slowly she looked up at him, and a sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Well, Detective," she began, "Paul Bearer was a landscaper his entire life. He worked until the day he died, hoping his sons might one day show interest in taking over the family business. They didn't." her watery eyes were suddenly clouded with memory again, and she turned her gaze out the window as she continued, "I don't know what they do now. I haven't spoken to that family in years."

* * *

After quick good byes Dean and Maggie had practically rushed from the small house back to his car. Immediately Dean reached for his radio and called dispatch. "This is car 38. I need an available officer to pull some information for me."

"This is dispatch. What do you need, 38?"

"I need a background check ASAP on one Paul Bearer, deceased and his two living sons Mark and Glen. Spokane residents. They own a chunk of land bordering Judith Keats up here on Nine Mile road."

"Roger that, 38."

Dean hung up his handset and pulled his sunglasses off before turning to her. His blue eyes were bright with excitement. For the first time in days they had a clear direction. The hunt was on.

"What now?" Maggie asked, instinct rushing through her veins like wildfire.

"Well…" Dean began, "by the books we oughta head back to the station and wait for those background checks."

Maggie smiled, "But?"

"But I'd rather head north until we hit the next driveway and have a little chat with the Bearer boys myself."

Maggie nodded, "Sounds good to me. We don't know if our killer is planning to strike again soon, and if he is one of the brothers…" she shrugged, "Let's go shake them up a little and see what we find out there."

Dean smirked and gunned the engine, making haste back to the main road. "This could be a little dangerous, Mags. You sure you're up for it?"

She chuckled, but found his concern rather touching. "I'm not exactly a rookie here, Dean. I can handle it. The Chief's not going to be very happy, though."

Dean laughed, "That's only if we screw this up, and there's no way in hell I'd let that happen."

His confidence was infectious, and Maggie felt herself relax in the passenger seat. Something about his presence always set her at ease. It seemed like for the first time since Shawn had died, she had found someone who made her feel… well, safe. She was seized with the strong desire to reach out and touch him, but before the impulse could take her she reigned it in. She was a hardened detective, damnit, not a lovesick schoolgirl.

It wasn't a very long drive before they found the next driveway, curving off the right side of the road and angled deep into the woods. Dean pulled in but slowed the car to a crawl, his eyes wary for anything, any clues that the forest might be hiding. The driveway was long, but eventually the trees opened up to a small clearing, and a well-manicured lawn spread out before them. Nestled in the middle was a large log home. There was an older but pristine looking Harley Davidson parked out front, and Dean pulled in just behind it before killing the engine.

They glanced at each other, and as their eyes locked the intensity between them was an almost tangible thing. Looking almost hypnotized, Dean reached out a large hand and placed it gently over her own. "Let's do this. Two souls are depending on us for justice now, Mags." His voice was gentler than she had ever heard it, laced thickly with emotion, "If someone in this house is responsible… we're going to get them."

Maggie nodded and squeezed his hand. "Damn right we are." Before she could risk becoming lost in the moment she gently pulled her hand free. It ached with the sudden loss of contact. She offered him a smile before opening her door and climbing out of the car.

* * *

Dean almost sighed at the loss of sensation when she pulled her hand away, but he remained silent, chiding himself in his head for having the nerve to think he could hold her hand like that. He had never had feelings for a woman the way he did for Maggie. Still, she was his partner not his girlfriend, and he needed to get better control over the way he behaved towards her. He climbed slowly out of his Challenger and took a moment to survey their surroundings before slipping his sunglasses on and ambling toward the house.

There was an ominous vibe about the property that he just couldn't shake, his instincts screaming at him that there was something important, something evil going on here. The place was certainly well maintained, and on the surface it looked like a pleasant country home. He followed the pretty cobblestone path that wound its way to the front door and paused just a moment. It struck him then what had been bothering him immensely since he left the car.

It was just too quiet. The familiar country noises of chirping birds and gentle wildlife was conspicuously absent from this place. It was genuinely creepy.

With a shake of his head he raised his hand and knocked loudly on the door; that familiar police knock that said 'Open the fuck up, or else.'

Maggie was at his side, her eyes scanning the property much like he had done before coming back to rest on the front door and wait there.

It was only a moment before the heavy wooden door opened soundlessly, and they came face to face with one of the Bearer brothers. He had dark hair, buzzed close to his skull, and blue eyes pale as ice. He made for a formidable figure, standing over Dean by a good number of inches.

Promptly he flashed his badge, "Detective Ambrose, with the Spokane P.D. This is my partner, Detective Michaels. We'd like to ask you a few questions about some recent murders, Mr. Bearer."

The response was subtle but immediate. The man tensed up all over but managed to keep his face free of expression. "Call me Mark," he spoke, his voice as low and dark as grave soil, "Mr. Bearer was my father." From anyone else this would have been a joke, just another routine in the small talk repertoire, but from the man before them it sounded almost like a threat. He remained firmly in the doorway and made no move to allow them entry.

Then his cold blue eyes moved to Maggie, and Dean's self-control was stretched thin. He looked her slowly up and down, and gave her a smile that was nothing if not sinister. Somehow, she looked unaffected and merely flipped open her notebook, pen poised to begin writing.

"Mark, then." She began, her amber eyes regarding him coolly. "We'd like to know your whereabouts for the nights of September 23rd and September 26th."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he replied, "I was on a trip, actually. There was a big motorcycle rally going on in Yakima on the 22nd. I rode my Harley down there and stayed with a couple old college buddies. I rode back home two nights ago."

Dean frowned, "We'll need the names and numbers of the friends you stayed with."

The big man smiled, "Of course, Detective." He rattled off the information they needed and Maggie wrote it all down. He looked positively at ease, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe and continuing to block their view of the interior. His eyes returned continually to Maggie, crawling over her small frame. She repressed a shudder but refused to let him shake her composure; he'd have to try harder than that.

Dean, however, was beginning to show his frustration. His muscles were clenched as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned in toward the larger man, "Well, if your alibi checks out then we should have no problem with you. Were you aware that there have been murders taking place in town during your absence?"

His face became a cool mask of surprise, "I had no idea. I don't watch local news much out here. Mostly I prefer to keep to myself. You could say I value my privacy." His last sentence was practically dripping menace.

"Of course you do, Mark. Would you mind if we speak with your brother, now? I'd like to ask him the same questions." Dean smirked confidently, like this was just a game of pool and he was about to take his last shot.

"My brother no longer lives out here, Detective Ambrose. I would have thought you would know that before you came all the way out here to ask him a question. I haven't seen Glen since he dropped out of high school."

Maggie couldn't stop her own eyes from widening in shock at that, but she suddenly had the feeling that he had slipped up. It was a lie, she was utterly positive. He may have sounded smooth as ever, but the muscles in his neck were taut and his eyes kept compulsively scanning the yard, as though he expected his brother to come rushing out of the tree line.

Dean merely nodded, appearing to accept the man at his word. He pulled a business card from his pocket and held it out, but as Mark reached to take it from him he held his grip and they stood there a moment, the unspoken challenge between them. Catch me if you can, Detective. "Thank you for your time, _Mr._ Bearer. You may be hearing from us again soon, but in the meantime if you recall anything you'd like to share with us, feel free to call me. We're very close to catching this guy."

Finally he relinquished his hold on the card and Mark shoved it unceremoniously into the pocket of his jeans. "Good luck to you, Detectives. I hope you catch this child killer soon."

Dean turned as if to leave, but paused and glanced back at the still open doorway. "Why thank you, Mr. Bearer. But… I thought you haven't been watching the news? I don't believe we mentioned that the murder victims were children."

In that instant the big man's confidence shattered and he merely stood there in shock. Much too quickly, however, he pulled himself back together. "Goodbye, Detective Ambrose, Detective Michaels." As he said her name he reached out a hand and brushed it lightly down her arm. Despite herself, she flinched away from his touch and she saw the muscles in Dean's jaw twitching as he worked to hold back his fury. Then suddenly the door was slammed in their faces and the interview was over.

* * *

A/N: Whew, tough chapter, but I'm rather proud of it. We're getting close to our conclusion now. :) If you're enjoying the story, please leave me a review! Pretty please?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: An Act of Desperation

The atmosphere was tense as Maggie and Dean made the drive back to the precinct. The encounter with Mark Bearer had left them both on edge. It seemed they had finally found a suspect, or rather, a pair of them. Now they just had to unravel the truth about the younger brother and convince a judge to issue them a warrant to search the property.

Dean began grumbling angrily the moment they were back on the main road. "Un-fucking-believable. If that asshole thinks we're not going to uncover his lies… Can't believe he had the balls to stand there and be smug to our faces. And when he fucking _touched_ you-"

"I'm okay, Dean. Let him be smug for now." Maggie sent a warm smile his way, and slowly he felt his wired nerves settle down. He had been tenuously close to losing his temper out there… but the trip had still been worth it. They had caught Mark Bearer in a lie, and the reward was the certainty that they had zeroed in on precisely the right target.

Dean smirked, "He'll be spending the rest of his life behind bars soon enough… although that's still better than he deserves." He took a long look at Maggie then. It was almost painful to see how exhausted she was. "Anyway, Mags, we'll get it all figured out back at the station. You oughta just close your eyes for a bit and have some down time for the drive back."

She rubbed lightly at her tired eyes and rested her head on the seat belt, "You're probably right. Thanks, Dean."

He shook the last cigarette from his pack and lowered his window before lighting it. By the time he glanced back at Maggie, she was solidly asleep. He found himself wondering how she could even function when she was walking around exhausted all the time. And if she was used to dealing with cases like this, then what was it that agonized her so badly that she couldn't even sleep at night? He merged smoothly onto the highway traffic and then slowed the car down to five miles under the speed limit. If this was the only rest she was going to get, he might as well make the drive last a bit longer.

* * *

Maggie awoke to a hand gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyelashes fluttered open and she was surprised to find that they were back in the parking lot at the precinct. She had closed her eyes expecting to just have some quiet moments with her thoughts, but somehow she had slipped into sleep after all. It was nice to wake up to something other than a nightmare. With a slight yawn she leaned forward in the leather seat and stretched her tired muscles.

When she glanced at Dean her heart couldn't help but melt at the concern in his eyes. She summoned a wry smile and he returned it. "Can't believe I passed out like that."

He chuckled, "Yeah you were out in about thirty seconds. By the way…" he reached behind them into the back seat, and Maggie tried not to stare as the action pulled his shirt tight across his well-defined muscles. Damn, she was going to have to get a hold of herself before she wound up in trouble. When he sat forward again he was holding a cardboard drink carrier. "I made a detour on the ride back. Coffee?"

Her eyes lit up the moment she saw the extra large frappuccino. "Oh, you are the best partner _ever_."

He grinned as he passed it over to her. "You know if any of my old partners heard you say that they'd say you had a couple screws loose."

She laughed, "That's funny. My Dad always used to say all the best detectives had a couple screws loose." Her smile turned a little bit sad as she thought about Shawn.

"Your Dad's a detective? I guess that explains a lot."

"Well… he was." Maggie took a long drink from her straw and was surprised to discover that talking about Shawn didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. Her mood actually felt a bit brighter as she recalled those happier times. "He died last month."

Dean ran a hand through his unruly hair, "Shit. Sorry, Mags."

She shrugged and offered him a genuine smile, "It's actually nice to talk about him again. He was Hunter's – I mean – Chief Helmsley's old partner, you know. The two of them were quite the team in San Francisco." She grinned, "The Chief is basically my Uncle."

Dean's eyes widened and he quirked an eyebrow at her, "Seriously? And he partnered you with _me?_ He must have some crazy faith in you."

Maggie laughed, "He probably just realized we were the same kind of crazy. Driven, obsessed with our jobs, reckless and temperamental."

Dean grinned, "Am I that easy to read?"

She winked at him, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." She took another long sip of coffee and sighed happily. Between the nap in the car and the caffeine she felt far more rejuvenated than she had in days. "I guess we'd better fight our way through the press and head inside now."

Dean nodded and they climbed out of his car, making a beeline for the door. Immediately the reporters were there, all shouting questions at the same time and shoving microphones and cameras in their faces. For a moment Maggie thought Dean was going to throw a punch at the particularly irritating young journalist from earlier as he waved his tape recorder at them, but then he surprised her by placing a hand on her lower back and guiding them easily through the mob. It was amazing how well his glare could clear a path.

Before she knew it they were inside and she had to hold back the urge to turn around and stick her tongue out at the crowd. That would not make for the best front page picture. Before they could head up the stairs together, however, they were approached by Roman Reigns. Maggie was set immediately back on edge as the full memories of her early morning came flooding in. She gulped and offered him a nervous smile.

"What's up, Reigns?" Dean asked, shooting his friend an inquiring look.

"Actually," he started, his voice low and serious, "I needed to speak with Maggie for a moment."

Dean's look turned instantly to suspicion but he just nodded, "Okay. Don't keep her long, we have a lot of shit on our to-do list." He turned to her and his gaze softened, "I'll head up and call about Mark Bearer's alibi."

"Okay, Dean. I'll be right up." Dimly she hoped that her voice wasn't as shaky as she felt. She watched with Roman as Dean disappeared into the staircase. One he was out of sight they turned to each other. "Is it about this morning, Roman?" she asked.

He nodded somberly, "Listen, Maggie. Seth and I haven't mentioned anything to anyone, but… if you haven't already, I really think you should tell Dean."

She sighed and lowered her gaze. His grey eyes were so piercing, all of a sudden she felt like a kid again being reprimanded by Shawn. With a sad smile she found herself wondering if this was what having an older brother was like. "I… I can't just bring that up and not go over the whole fucked up story… which is something I'd _really_ rather not do." Realizing that she was still looking shamefully down at her shoes, she forced herself to look back up and meet his gaze.

Roman frowned, "I'm not going to push you, but-" he lowered his voice as another officer walked by, "-George Henley was released already. Chief said to get him in front of a judge ASAP and, well, we did. Unfortunately that guy's a pretty smooth manipulator. He was all apologies and tears, and combined with the fact that it was the first time he broke the restraining order…" he shrugged sympathetically, "He promised he'd return to California and the Judge let him go with a warning."

Maggie's eyes were wide with shock. She'd expected him to be let out, but she'd hoped he would at least have to spend a night in jail. "I see." She looked away for a moment, lost in memories, "Well… maybe he will go back to California. He knows he'll be in much worse trouble if he tries again."

Roman put his hand on her shoulder and she met his eyes again, "That's the thing, Maggie. I don't think he's leaving. I saw his eyes as he walked out… he looked… desperate. Crazy. Maybe even dangerous. Dean should know about this."

Maggie sighed, but she knew he was right. "Look, I- I've never told _anyone_ before. I've never talked about it except to people who already knew, and that was _years_ ago. It's not a pretty story."

Roman squeezed her shoulder gently, and she saw with relief that his eyes were full of compassion, not pity. "Dean's past isn't pretty, either. You're his partner, you need to trust him. And I'll tell your right now that he handles the truth a lot better than he handles people keeping secrets – especially important secrets. He's going to want to help you, but he can't unless he knows what's going on."

Maggie nodded, her expression sad. "You're right, Roman. I'll… tell him. I just need some time to figure out how." Her insides were squirming at the mere thought. What if the truth about her past ruined everything between them? What if he could never look at her the same way again? She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and cleared her mind. There was no point in going over 'what if's'. Roman was right, she'd just have to trust him.

The big man nodded and his expression brightened, "Good. If something were to happen to you and he found out Seth and I knew about it, well let's just say I don't particularly feel like him ripping me a new asshole."

Maggie laughed despite herself, "Yeah, I got it. Dean's wrath is to be feared."

Roman's face went suddenly serious and he leaned in close, his eyes wide as he whispered, "You have _no _idea, babygirl."

They both laughed, at least until another officer stalked out into the entryway and barked at them, "Reigns! Since when is telling jokes to the pretty detectives in your job description?"

Roman backed away and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry, sir. Back to work, then." He winked at Maggie as he walked off, and slowly she turned to head upstairs.

With every step she felt sick apprehension build in her gut, and by the time she reached the top of the staircase she had to force herself to stop. It took several deep breaths before she had her head back in the game enough to walk through the door. Dean was seated, his shoulders set with agitation as he conversed with Jericho, who was leaning suavely against the desk.

"Hey Chris," she called out good naturedly.

"Ah, my dear Maggie!" The older detective beamed, "How it brightens my day each time I see you."

"Laying it on a little thick, don't you think, Jericho?" Dean growled.

Chris seized her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles while Dean glowered at him over his coffee. "Why, are you jealous, Ambrose?"

Dean's glare could have curdled milk, "I was just thinking you might want to back off before I decide your ass would look better with my boot up it."

"Now, now, don't be so kinky in front of the lady." Chris grinned.

Maggie worked hard to hold back the giggle that threatened to bubble up. Nothing like testosterone filled banter to brighten the mood. She took a seat at her desk and leaned toward Dean, who visibly relaxed a bit. "Did Mark Bearer's alibi check out?"

"Of course. Slick bastard. He really was at a motorcycle rally in Yakima."

Maggie nodded, "I figured as much. Guess that means the younger brother is our killer. Still, Mark is definitely covering for him."

"I believe this is where I come in," offered Jericho, tossing a file down onto the desk in front of them.

"You mean you actually have a reason for harassing me today?" Dean grumbled, picking up the file and flipping it open to scan the contents.

"Yup. Who else did you think they were going to have pulling those background checks?"

"Thanks, Chris." Maggie smiled. Dean merely grunted and continued reading the file.

"Anytime, Maggie. I'll leave you two to it, then." And with that he sauntered away to his own desk, whistling some pleasant tune.

Maggie leaned closer to Dean to browse the file with him. Paul Bearer had indeed died three years ago, and before that he had owned a successful landscaping business. His record was squeaky clean. As for Mark Bearer, he went from high school to a technical institute where he earned a degree in motorcycle mechanics. He didn't work much, so the obvious assumption would be that his father had left him a hefty inheritance. There was nothing on his record but speeding tickets and a couple of assault charges from bar fights.

Then came Glen Bearer… an entirely different story. His juvenile record started with trespassing at the tender age of twelve and culminated in a nasty battery charge when he was sixteen. Apparently he had put his fourteen year old girlfriend in the hospital for weeks following a vicious assault. He had also threatened to kill her, and the police report stated that she had been terrified of him. He did nine months in a juvenile detention center for that one, and when he was released he promptly dropped out of high school and off the face of the earth… according to his records. He had not held a job, rented a home, obtained a driver's license, or even gotten a library card.

Maggie frowned, her brow furrowed in thought, "It seems that wherever Glen Bearer is, he's been in hiding."

Dean nodded and leaned back in his chair, "Or he's been hidden. I'd bet anything he's on that property somewhere, living like the family's dirty secret."

Maggie frowned, "We need a warrant to search the property."

"Already went to the Chief about it. He's going to pull some strings so hopefully we'll have it by tomorrow."

As if on cue, Hunter exited his office and headed straight for them. "Ambrose, Michaels!" he called as he approached, "Excellent work today. I see I put this case in the right hands." He smiled warmly at Maggie, but his eyes were dark with worry. "Listen, you've both been working round the clock on this, but at this point we can't do anything until the warrant is signed. I've got a Judge who'll do it, but only once he gets into his office in the morning and only _after _reviewing your case file."

Dean rolled his eyes but managed to refrain from making any derogatory remarks.

Hunter sighed before continuing, "So, since tonight is a stalemate I want you two to go home and get a good night's sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow."

Maggie frowned, "Is that an order, Chief?"

He nodded, "Damn right it is. Take some down time and try to relax. I need you alert and at your best tomorrow to search that property, all forty acres of it."

Dean glanced at her before nodding, "Understood."

Hunter moved as if to head back to his office, but he only made it two steps before he turned around again, frowning, "One more thing. Maggie, what we talked about this morning still applies. I want you to leave your car here tonight and have Ambrose drive you home. I'll drive you in tomorrow morning."

Maggie's eyes widened in shock but she knew better than to argue so she merely nodded. Dean, meanwhile, was looking thoroughly confused, but before he could ask any questions Hunter had turned around again and left.

"What's this about, Mags?" Dean asked, "The same reason you were late this morning? And why you look like you haven't slept in a week?"

Maggie sighed and rested her head atop the desk for a moment before answering. "Yes… and it's a long, awful story." Slowly she looked back up at him and was surprised to see his eyes were soft, not suspicious. "I'll make you a deal. When you drop me off, come inside and I'll cook us up some dinner. Then I can tell you the whole story." Her stomach was twisting into knots at the thought, but she knew she'd have to get through this sooner or later.

Dean looked surprised, "Sounds good, then. Come on, Mags, let's get you home." He paused in thought, "I don't even know how long it's been since I've eaten something that didn't come from a drive through or a vending machine."

Maggie grimaced and laughed, "Somehow I'm not surprised."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when they climbed into his Challenger. Dean's mind was racing, torn between a peculiar excitement at being invited to Maggie's for dinner and a grim anticipation for whatever she had to tell him. Obviously it was something she had a hard time talking about. During the drive she explained that she was living in Hunter's guest house, and that just like he was not really her biological uncle, neither had her dad been her biological father.

She tried several times to say more than that, but appeared to lose her nerve every time she opened her mouth. "Sorry, Dean. I've never really had to tell this story before." She frowned, thinking back to when she had been eleven. Stuck in a hospital bed and too scared to speak while a number of reporters, police officers, and social workers had filed in and out, asking her endless questions. The only ones she could talk to then were Shawn and Hunter, because they had _been _there… they had seen the horror with their own eyes.

"Take your time if you have to." Dean spoke gently, trying his best to put her at ease. "We're almost there, anyhow. So what's for dinner?"

Maggie relaxed and smiled, "I was thinking burgers. I believe I even have a bag of French fries in the freezer."

Dean grinned, "No complaints from me. Here I was just hoping you weren't a vegetarian."

Maggie laughed, and then suddenly they were pulling into the driveway and she sat for a moment, silently preparing herself for what she had to do. "Alright, then," she took a deep breath, "let's go inside, shall we?"

The sunset was at its most glorious, lighting the entire sky in a rich mixture of oranges and pinks. She climbed out and fished around in her purse for the keys as Dean came around the car to stand beside her. Then, keys in hand, they set off for the door to the guest house. Unfortunately they never made it there.

As they approached the front door a shadowy shape ran out from around the corner of the building and straight at them. Maggie froze, and knew immediately what she was seeing. So her father had come back after all… to spew more hatred and make her feel like a frightened child again. Dean, his instincts sharp and alert, immediately put his hand on the gun at his side. Neither of them saw the knife until it was much too late.

A gleam of golden sunlight reflected off the wickedly long blade for just an instant before her attacker gave a harsh cry and lunged forward. In the next second the knife was buried to the hilt in her side and she barely had time to register the pain before Dean had fired his gun. He put a bullet expertly through her father's kneecap and he howled in pain, collapsing and thrashing uselessly about in the grass. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, and by the time Maggie finally looked down at the knife sticking out of her abdomen Dean was already there, catching her just as she fell to the ground.

His face was torn somewhere between rage and horror as he cradled her against him. Maggie wanted to tell him it wasn't that bad, that it barely hurt at all, but her tongue failed her when she tried to speak. She glanced down again at the knife and in the last of the sunlight her blood looked black as it spread rapidly through the cotton of her blouse. Somehow it didn't seem important. She could hear her father's wretched screaming, and suddenly Stephanie was there as well, a phone pressed to her ear and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Maggie tuned it all out and turned her eyes back to Dean. She wanted to tell him it would be alright. Her vision was blurring but her mind was clear. Her last thought was that he looked truly beautiful in the light of the sunset. She wanted to tell him, but when she opened her mouth a fit of coughing shook her entire body, and she tasted blood on her lips. The last cough rattled her enough to jar the knife, but mercifully there was only one white hot flash of pain before the world faded to black.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, so…. What a way to end a chapter, I know. This one was hard to write! Hope you are all enjoying the story, my apologies for the nasty cliffhanger but it was just the best way to end the chapter. As always, please review! ^_^


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Dead End

Dean flipped his sirens on and sped behind the ambulance as it made its way to the hospital. His mind was blank with shock. The image of Maggie seemed burned onto his eyelids, and with every blink he saw the horror again clearly; that wicked hunting knife buried to the hilt, the stain of dark blood pouring through her blouse. He could hear her gasping for air and coughing up blood. He could feel the phantom touch of her fingertips lingering on his cheek as her eyes slipped shut.

After what felt like an eternity the hospital loomed up before him and he followed the ambulance to the emergency entrance, pulling his Challenger in haphazardly behind it and killing the engine. He climbed out just as a team of emergency staff came rushing out to pull Maggie's stretcher down. Dread twisted painfully in his gut when he caught a glimpse of her again. Her face was deathly pale, obscured by an oxygen mask. The knife had been removed, and in its place a determined looking paramedic held pressure to the open wound.

Dean numbly followed as they rushed her into the hospital, barking directions at each other. He tried to pick up on what they were saying, but it felt like all he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. At some point a doctor in surgical scrubs came sprinting up to them, and her stretcher was wheeled through a pair of swinging doors. One of the nurses stopped him there, holding her hands up apologetically.

"You can't come any further, sir. If you'd like you can sit in the waiting room down the hall. We'll let you know when we have an update."

Dean managed a nod, "Is she… going to be okay?" His voice came out shaky and hoarse, sounding foreign to his own ears.

The nurse tried to offer him a smile, but it was half hearted at best, "We'll do everything we can. She has a punctured lung and internal bleeding." There was a call from behind the doors and the nurse spun on her heel and hurried inside, leaving Dean alone in the suddenly deserted hallway. Feeling dazed, he walked to the waiting room and took a seat. He rested his head wearily in his hands and didn't look back up again until he heard the echoes of Hunter's voice down the hallway. He bolted out of the waiting room, his brain suddenly burning with questions for the Police Chief.

"What's going on? Can't I see her?" Hunter glared down at the unlucky nurse, but beneath his outward anger his eyes were dark with fear.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you won't be able to see her until she's out of surgery and in a recovery room."

"How _is _she? Is she going to make it?"

"Sir, I will let you know as soon as I possibly can." The nurse's voice was soft with sympathy. Hunter sighed, and his shoulders slumped as if in defeat. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. The nurse, as if sensing that his momentary silence was her cue to escape, quickly turned and vanished behind the double doors.

Dean cleared his throat as he approached, every step bringing him out of his grim shock and resurfacing the fury that had overtaken him the moment Maggie had been hurt. "Chief, just what the fuck is going on?"

Hunter glanced quickly at him, his eyes unfocused, "Maggie-" his voice broke slightly when he spoke her name, "-she didn't tell you anything?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, "She was going to. Before we were ambushed by the psycho with the knife." He took a step closer, his blue eyes flashing dangerously, "_Who was he_?"

Hunter sighed again and leaned his body against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. "That _monster_ was her father. We- Shawn and I- took her away from him when she was a girl. Shawn adopted her and loved her like a father should." His voice was distant, as if he were speaking straight from his memories.

Dean shook his head angrily. Things still didn't make any sense. "Why the fuck would he want her dead?"

Hunter paused, picking his words carefully, "Maggie was kidnapped. She went through something terrible. When we found her… afterwards, her father was vilified by the national press. He became the scourge of San Francisco, and he blamed it all on his daughter. In the beginning he harassed Shawn nonstop. It was like blaming Maggie was the sole purpose of his existence. He said nasty things about her to anyone who would listen. Eventually Shawn and I put him in his place, the restraining order was slapped on, and he went away quietly…"

He trailed off, lost in thought, as if forgetting why he was talking about it at all. When he glanced back at Dean, his eyes were full of pain and guilt, "He showed up early this morning, at my house. He didn't have a weapon, didn't do much more than scream and drool at us. Maggie – Christ, she almost shot him. I was worried he wouldn't leave her alone, but I never thought… I never thought he'd do this."

Abruptly he looked away. Dean gritted his teeth, working hard to keep his temper in check before he replied, "If I had _known," _he began, his voice a low growl, "I could have- _goddamnit_, I could have protected her!" He managed to restrain the impulse to put his fist through one of the hospital walls, but just barely.

Hunter appeared to absorb the rage coming at him, and he nodded his head, looking suddenly weary. "I should have taken it more seriously. I should have told you myself." He raised his hands and slowly massaged his temples, his brow furrowed in grief and anguish.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as once again images of Maggie flooded his mind. Beautiful, confident Maggie, lying in a pool of her own blood and looking up at him, her eyes calm and fearless. He could have prevented it, he could have _saved_ her. He remembered raising his gun, acting on pure instinct, and blowing out the man's shin. He found himself bitterly wishing he had put the bullet straight through his heart instead.

* * *

_It was so dark, so quiet. Maggie forced her dry, tired eyes open and looked to the tiny window. Somewhere in the distance the sun was rising, and the silvery light filtered through the dirty glass to illuminate her prison. She refused to look around. She already knew what she would see. There was nothing down there with her… nothing but pain and torture and death._

_She shuddered when she looked down at herself, but her body had no more tears to give. This was the third sunrise she had witnessed since she had been chained up. Her clothes were torn to pieces. Her legs were smeared with ugly streaks of dried blood. She licked her chapped lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper and wished fervently for a drink of water._

_Maggie slowly slid up along the concrete wall until she was in a seated position, wincing at the soreness in her muscles. Her head spun with nausea every time she moved. She had used every bit of strength to fight her captors… but it just hadn't been enough. She leaned her head back and kept her eyes on the window, trying to lose herself in the gentle morning light and forget her surroundings._

_Dimly she became aware of a noise in the distance, and though her head was foggy the sound was unmistakable. Sirens._

_Somewhere deep inside her a spark of hope began to stir. Within moments the sirens became a roar, and suddenly she could see flashing red and blue lights reflected in the tiny window. Her breathing became ragged as she allowed herself to dream of rescue. There was shouting now, from outside. She could hear noises above her as her captor moved about, his footfalls heavy and sinister._

"_Help…" she whispered, testing out her voice. After days of screaming and sobbing, it sounded weak and rough. Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She summoned as much energy as she could and tried again. "Help me!"_

_She still wasn't sure if she had been loud enough, but suddenly the voices from outside were louder and more urgent. Her head was pounding from the effort, darkness creeping in on the edges of her vision. There was a single explosive gunshot, loud and ominous, from above her. It was followed instantly by a chorus of gun shots, and then there was a solitary scream of pain. Something hit the floor above her with a sickening thud._

_Maggie's breathing was fast and ragged as she fought to remain conscious. The throbbing in her head seemed to get worse by the second. Her eyelids felt so heavy… There was shouting inside the house, now, and many footsteps pounded on the floor above. Her ears picked up on the metal grinding noise that she knew was a key in the heavy basement door, and her body was seized with a violent, involuntary shudder. As the door opened she froze in horror, dreading that the face that appeared might be the one from her nightmares._

_Miraculously, it was not. A young man with clear blue eyes looked down at her for just an instant, shock apparent on his face, before he ran down the stairs. "Hunter! There's a girl, alive, down here!" His voice was rough, but kind. He called behind him. Then suddenly he was at her side, fumbling with a heavy key ring to unlock her restraints. As her wrists were freed they fell heavily to the floor, her arms rubbery and limp with exhaustion._

_She blinked in surprise as she felt tears begin to slip down her cheeks, and very carefully she was lifted from the floor by her rescuer. Behind him came a torrent of police officers, and suddenly the basement was full of them. One man, large and formidably muscular, knelt sadly in one corner of the room. Maggie kept her eyes averted… she knew what he was looking at._

"_It's the Duvall boy…" the man in the corner spoke. "We were too late."_

_The man holding her let out a curse, and his grip tightened a bit. She leaned her head wearily against his chest and tried not to think about the dead boy, who had been the only witness to her horror in the basement. She didn't know how long he had suffered down there before her, but he had died shortly after she had been chained up. She tried not to think of his sad brown eyes, frozen in death._

_Her head was throbbing, but she managed to cling to consciousness long enough to be carried out of the house. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, and turned her gaze to the sunrise. "Thank you." She whispered._

Maggie surfaced slowly from her memories, and when she opened her eyes she was in a dark room. At first her vision swam and the world appeared to spin and lurch around her. With a groan she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and waited for the foggy, narcotic feeling to go away before she tried opening her eyes again. When she did, she realized that she was in the hospital. It wasn't pitch black like she had thought, but the only light in the room came from the moon shining through the window.

The reality of what had happened came crashing down on her.

She felt her breath hitch in panic at the memory of the knife, and deep in her chest a ragged pain accompanied each breath.

"You woke up."

Maggie looked up in surprise at that familiar voice, and felt herself calm instantly when her eyes locked with Dean's. He was smiling, but the moonlight cast deep shadows under his blue eyes, and she wondered if he had been sitting with her all night. He lifted his hand, hesitating just a moment before placing it gently over hers. The pain in her chest was momentarily forgotten. At least until she tried to talk.

"Dean," she managed, but even through the haze of narcotics the pain of speaking made her wince.

"Hey, don't try to talk just yet." He frowned and squeezed her hand, "You have a busted rib and a collapsed lung. That fuckin' knife barely missed your heart." He glanced quickly at her IV, and then at the machine she was hooked up to before reaching over and pushing a button. "More morphine." He smirked. "Doc says you can push it as much as you want to."

Maggie smiled and resisted the urge to laugh. In her present condition she didn't want to risk it. The dose of morphine cooled the burning pain in her chest, but it also made her head grow heavy and she began to struggle to keep her eyelids open.

"Sleep, Mags, you need it." His voice was low and husky, and though there were so many things she wanted to say to him she felt herself fall deeply back into her dreams.

* * *

Maggie didn't wake up again for another eight hours. When she did, it was Hunter and not Dean who was sitting at her bedside. He lit up immediately when he saw she was awake.

"Maggie! I was really scared there, kid." He reached a big hand out and stroked it over her hair, his eyes warm with relief.

She smiled back and decided to risk her voice, "Uncle Hunter." She was prepared again for agony, but thankfully it wasn't that bad. Raspy, but the pain was much less sharp. "I'm okay."

He shook his head, "You were in surgery for three hours." He grimaced, "They put a tube down your throat and then operated through it… repaired your lung without having to open you up. According to the doctor, it should heal just fine."

Hunter dropped his gaze suddenly and his voice was gruff when he spoke, "I'm sorry, Maggie. This was my fault. If Shawn were still here, this would never have happened…"

Her eyes flooded with tears but she refused to cry. "Stop it." He looked back up at her and she offered a smile. "You act like you're the one who stabbed me," she teased.

He raised an eyebrow, "Joking already? I guess that's good news for your recovery." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand before speaking again, "He'll be going to prison for a long time for this."

Maggie closed her eyes, trying to force her thoughts away from the man who had once been her father. "Good." She managed finally, glancing back up with a soft smile. "I don't think I'll send him a Christmas card this year." Hey, someone had to lighten the mood.

He chuckled, and was about to say something else when his cell phone chimed from his pocket. With a frown he pulled it out and intently read the screen. He stood from his chair and his voice was suddenly urgent, "Damn. Maggie, there's an issue at work and I have to go." He gazed over her, his eyes sad, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Maggie attempted to sit up and gritted her teeth against the jolt of pain. With a shaky hand she reached out and pushed her morphine button. "Hunter, is it to do with my case?" She fixed him with her most stubborn glare as he headed for the door.

"I don't want you worrying about that right now. You can't do anything from a hospital bed." He spoke dismissively, as though there was no room for argument.

She frowned, but didn't ease up on her glare. "Where's Dean?"

Hunter hesitated, then matched her stubborn look with one of his own. "The warrant was signed about three hours ago. He and an investigative team are searching the Bearer property."

Maggie's eyes went wide, "I should be out there. They need me. Is that what your text was about?" She realized she was rambling and forced herself to stop.

Hunter shook his head firmly, "I said don't worry about it, Maggie. Ambrose and his team can handle this. Try to get some more rest, okay?" He gave her one last look of concern before he left the hospital room.

* * *

Dean shoved his phone angrily back into his pocket after quickly texting Hunter the bad news. The search of the Bearer property was not going well. Mark Bearer was seated comfortably on his front steps, his cold eyes surveying the investigators with amusement. Three hours and they had found nothing. No hint that the younger brother was living on the property, no evidence that the murdered girls had ever been there. The search dog had given up an hour ago, and was merely laying in the grass looking forlorn.

Cursing under his breath, Dean turned his gaze to the tree line and tried to critically assess the situation. He knew he was in the right place. Glen Bearer was their murderer, but how had he stayed hidden all these years? Just what was going on out here? His phone rang, blaring the guitar riff from his favorite song. He took a few more steps away from the house before pulling it out and answering it.

"What's going on out there, Ambrose? What do you mean you found nothing?" The Chief barked through the phone, his voice tense.

Dean lit up a cigarette and took a long drag before answering, "I searched the whole fucking property, Chief. There's not a single clue out here." He shot his angry gaze toward Mark Bearer, who merely stretched his lips into a sinister grin. "This asshole is covering it up somehow. We need to take him in for questioning."

On the other end of the line he heard Hunter sigh, "Only if he volunteers, Ambrose. Without any evidence connecting him to the case we can't take him in under suspicion."

Dean muttered a curse and took another long drag, "What are you saying, exactly? You want us to pack up and leave without finding _anything_?"

"If there's nothing out there to find, then you're going to have to. How sure are you about the Bearer brothers?" he asked wearily.

"I'm fuckin' positive, Chief. There's no way Maggie and I are wrong on this one."

"Well then we're going to have to regroup and go over everything again. If Glen Bearer is in hiding, and he's not on the property, then you'll have to look somewhere else."

Dean stomped his cigarette out on the grass and gritted his teeth in frustration, "Fine." He growled out, and before his temper could get the better of him he hung up his phone. Just as he turned around to give the order to head out, his ringtone started up again and he answered without looking at the caller ID. "What is it now?"

The voice that answered was certainly not the Chief's. He recognized the smooth drawl instantly. "People normally say hello when they answer their phone, Detective Ambrose."

"Paul Heyman?" He asked, his eyebrows raised. "You got some new information for me?"

"Why yes, I believe I do. I've been following the investigation on the news, you know. I'm afraid I haven't thought about the Bearer brothers in years, but I got a tearful phone call from Judith Keats last night. She's positive they're behind the murders." He paused before continuing, "Given what I remember about them, I'd say that's a good possibility."

"And just what do you remember, Mr. Heyman?" He tried to keep his voice professional, but his nerves were stretched thin. Quickly he lit another cigarette to calm himself down.

"Well, I went to high school with them. You may be surprised to learn that I was not very popular back in those days."

Dean barely suppressed a laugh, "Try and get to the point, Heyman. I don't really care about your social life."

"Of course you don't, but it happens to be relevant." he went on, smooth as ever, "Anyway they were my neighbors, and close enough in age that I tried to fit in with their group. They used to throw wild parties, unbeknownst to their father. At some point they discovered an old abandoned cabin in the woods – off the beaten path, so to speak. It was like a secret base for them. I was only ever invited to one party there," he cleared his throat, "before I decided that they were much too dangerous a crowd for me, you see."

Dean's body was tense, his instincts screaming that this was the final clue he needed. "Can you tell me where this cabin is, Mr. Heyman?"

"It'd be hard to describe, Detective. I suppose…" He let his sentence drag on, and Dean had to bite back the impulse to snap at him in impatience, "It's been so many years, but I believe I could show you where it is. I'm out at the farm house now, if you wanted to swing by."

That was all he needed to hear, "I'll be there in ten." He hung up the phone and took a moment to compose himself. His blood was buzzing through his veins in anticipation. It was time to end this chase.

* * *

A/N: I want to give a big thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying this story, and a special shout out to those who take the time to leave me a review! This chapter was a tough one for me, it took a few extra days of fiddling before I had it cleaned up enough to post. There's only one or two chapters left now!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the delay on this chapter! I just started a new job and I've been mentally exhausted. This one's going to be extra long to make up for all the time you had to wait. Also, if you are wondering, the poem at the top was written by me as well.

* * *

Chapter 11: The Devil's Favorite Demon

_The woods are dark and deep, my love,_

_No trails betwixt the trees._

_And hidden in amongst the brush_

_Are many fearsome beasts._

_Not only those with razor claws_

_And grinning dagger teeth,_

_But also some who beckon, soft,_

_And smile sickly sweet._

_Please do not venture in, my dove,_

_Though madness calls you near._

_For those who chose to walk within_

_May never reappear._

_I cannot follow you inside_

_So please remain right here,_

_Where we can stand together_

_In the light to fight our fears._

After the phone call from Heyman, Dean did his best to remain composed. He kept his expression frozen in a mask of frustration and stomped back to his investigative team. It was desperately important that Mark Bearer think he was leaving with nothing.

"Pack it up, boys. The Chief wants us back at the station." His voice was clipped and tense. The other officers glanced at him with grim resignation. "Rollins, Reigns, I need you two to follow me back." He was far too stubborn to call Hunter back just to ask for permission to investigate his new lead, particularly with the man torn up with guilt over Maggie. Of course he also knew better than to rush off into danger with nobody to guard his back. Rollins and Reigns jogged over to him, confusion in their eyes, but he held up a hand as a warning to halt any questions.

Of everyone he worked with, Maggie excluded, they were the only two that had completely earned his trust. If he was going to go rushing off into danger- and he could feel the impending doom gathering like a thundercloud over his head- then he needed somebody to back him up. There was a time when he would have preferred going alone anyway, but something about him had changed in recent days. He had always felt that life was merely a race to the finish, an endless obstacle course that would one day overwhelm him. But now… now he had things he wanted to live for.

Mark Bearer was still coldly surveying the situation as the other officers piled into their cruisers and peeled away. His icy gaze was locked on Dean, bright with suspicion, and Dean glared at him unflinchingly in return. "Mr. Bearer…" he began, his voice dripping contempt, "It seems we've wasted our morning out here."

The big man crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his lips into a mocking smile, but remained silent.

Dean gritted his teeth as he went on, "I _apologize_ for taking up so much of your time."

Mark chuckled, the sound low and patronizing. "With all due respect, Detective, if you're done here I've got better things to do than make polite goodbyes." He turned without another word and stalked inside his house, slamming the front door with such force that it rattled the frame.

Dean turned back to his friends, running a hand impatiently through his hair. Before they could speak he held up a hand again, "Just follow me in your cruiser. I'll explain later."

* * *

Mark Bearer laughed darkly to himself, watching through his window blinds as Detective Ambrose drove away. He had been entirely shocked the day they had arrived at his front door, demanding answers. If only his brother hadn't gotten so out of control while he had been out of town… but then, Glen had never had much self-control.

He waited five minutes inside his house before slipping out the back door and venturing into his backyard. Just before the tree line he stopped and knelt on the ground, searching expertly with his fingertips until he found what he was looking for. With a grunt he sunk his fingers in and began to pull. Slowly a square section of the earth lifted, loose dirt showering down onto the lawn. The trapdoor was hidden well underneath a layer of sod, concealing one of the many secrets of the Bearer family – an underground root cellar.

His father had built it while Mark was still in high school, just after Glen's final incident with the law. Paul Bearer had decided that his youngest son was a monster, and in his shame he had locked him up underground. Glen had lived ten long years of his life in the darkness like a caged animal, catching glimpses of the outside world only once each day when his father brought him food. Whatever had been left of his soul had been quickly lost to blinding madness.

When Mark had returned from college he had spent a lot of his time underground, keeping his brother company. By the light of lanterns they would converse, remembering their youth and bonding over their darkest ambitions. Only when they were together could they be themselves – not Mark and Glen Bearer, but Undertaker and Kane. They dreamed of exploiting people's fears and nightmares, of bringing horror and reaping death.

Mark began to argue to his father that his brother needed to be released, that they could keep him leashed still but allow him some freedom by moving him to the cabin deep in the forest. Reluctantly his father agreed, and when Glen had finally emerged he was truly a monster in every sense of the word. He lived quietly in the cabin for many years, content to converse with his demons and plot unspeakable crimes without ever acting them out. He had developed a deep seated fear and hatred for the outside world. It wasn't until their father died that Mark decided it was time to _truly_ change things. He gave the old company van to his brother and taught him how to drive it. They would venture out in the middle of the night and park just to watch people, companionably imagining ways they would kill or torture them.

After months of careful planning they decided they were ready to make their fantasies into reality. Mark was the leader, and his brother was fiercely obedient. They drove to far away towns for their abductions, or picked up hitchhikers on quiet stretches of road, taking them back to the dark root cellar and keeping them underground until they died. Sometimes the kill was immediate… other times they would stretch it out. Many a lost soul was tortured in the darkness for months before being granted the release of death. The bodies were drug out into the woods and buried deep behind the cabin.

Kane had a fascination with young children, particularly girls, but Mark insisted that they only target adults. Kids, he said, would garner too much attention, and the fun would end if they were ever caught. If Mark ever left the house, it was with strict instructions for his brother to stay put. Kane had never disobeyed his orders – until now. Something inside his brother had become uncontrollable. When Mark returned from his last trip he faced the shocking discovery that his brother had been killing while he was gone. Not only killing, but killing children; Not only killing children, but killing them _sloppily_.

His fury had been immediate. The media had already picked up the story and the police had assigned their best detectives to the case. Detectives who had the nerve to actually show up at his home. Detectives smart enough to zero in on him, and too stupid to know that they were signing their own death warrants. Mark had lain awake all night, staring at his ceiling and imagining ways to kill Detective Ambrose. And as for Detective Michaels… well, she needed to die as well, but only after he got to have some fun with her.

He had barely had enough time for a cup of coffee this morning before his yard and home had been swarmed with police officers. Ambrose showed him the signed warrant with an arrogant smirk, and Mark had wanted to gut him right then and there. He wouldn't have even minded being shot down. If he could just end that insufferable detective, then he would go to Hell happily. He had only held back because he had supreme confidence that the police did not know about the cabin, and the cellar in his yard was hidden well enough so as to be nearly undiscoverable.

Besides, killing Ambrose would have only been half the prize. It was his pretty partner that Mark _really_ wanted to get his hands on. And for that, he could be patient.

Quietly Mark slipped into the cellar, going immediately for the hanging lantern and lighting it. The flickering flame illuminated his favorite place in the world. Here was where he kept his mementos, his precious keepsakes to commemorate each kill. Lined up neatly against the wall were at least a dozen shoes, one from each victim. With a sick smile he turned from his keepsakes and walked further into the darkness. In the corner was a small card table and two folding chairs. On top of the table was the only object he had removed from the house just in case it was searched – a police scanner.

Mark picked it up and tucked it under his arm, taking one last look around the cellar before extinguishing the lantern and climbing out. He closed the trapdoor carefully behind him, rearranging the dying autumn grass so that, once again, you couldn't tell that there was a hidden entrance there.

* * *

Dean had been following behind Paul Heyman's silver jaguar for what felt like ages before it finally pulled off the road and parked on the shoulder. He stopped his car right behind it, and behind him Roman and Seth stopped in their cruiser. Heyman opened his door and climbed out, staring at the woods beyond his car for a moment before practically rushing toward Dean's challenger. Obligingly he rolled down his window to hear what the man had to say.

"We there yet, Heyman? Or have you forgotten the way after all?" his voice betrayed his impatience as his hands fumbled for a cigarette to light.

Paul sighed, and when he spoke his voice was shaky with nerves, "Have a little faith, Detective, we're here."

Dean frowned and glanced at the forest around them, "Don't test my patience." He took a long drag before continuing, "I don't see a cabin here."

Paul shook his head, "You can't see it from the road. The driveway is overgrown." He pointed one finger to the edge of the forest just behind his car. "There's a path, right there. It winds about a mile into the woods and ends at the cabin." He shuddered. "This is as far as I go, Detective. If I never see one of the Bearer brothers again, it'll be too soon."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself at the sight of raw fear in the older man's eyes. His forehead was glistening with sweat despite the chill in the air, and he was clasping his hands so tightly together that his knuckles were white.

"Fine." He grumbled, "You can go."

Paul smiled gratefully and sauntered back to his car. Dean waited until he had his hand on the door before calling out, "Heyman!"

"Yes?" He called back.

"Just wanted to say…" Dean smirked, his voice hesitant on the unfamiliar word he was about to utter, "Thanks."

Paul's eyes widened but he nodded respectfully, "Lock them both up, Detective."

Without another word he climbed back into his jaguar and sped away. Dean sat still for a moment, eyeing the path that winded into the woods and finishing his cigarette. Roman and Seth climbed out of their cruiser and approached his window.

Seth leaned down, his brown eyes confused, "Why have we stopped? This doesn't look like a cabin to me."

Dean gestured with his free hand to the weed covered path. It was just wide enough for one vehicle, and upon a closer look the tall grass was flattened where someone had recently driven through. "We're hoofin' it from here. We could probably drive, but I don't want this bastard to see us coming."

Seth nodded and folded his arms across his chest, "Are you sure about this? We don't even know what we're going to find out there."

"Look, either he's hiding out there and we have the chance to catch him now, or he's not, and we're back to where we were this morning." Dean glared at the woods.

"You forgot the possibility where we run into an angry bear and get chased all the way back to our cars." Seth pointed out.

Roman shook his head. "Nah, man. Never run from a bear. You're supposed to curl up into a ball and play dead."

Seth looked at him doubtfully, "Are bears that stupid? You just drop to the ground and all of a sudden they decide _not_ to eat you?"

Roman appeared thoughtful, "Bears don't really eat people anyway. They just kill you 'cause you're a threat. If you play dead they just chew on you a bit before they get bored and walk away." He grinned at the look of horror on his partner's face.

Dean stubbed out his cigarette and, despite himself, chuckled a bit at their antics. "Good to know that we're about to walk into Hell and you guys are more worried about woodland creatures."

"Hey, man…" Seth began, his face deadly serious, "bears are scary."

"You ready to do this thing, Ambrose?" Roman's voice was full of confidence.

Dean nodded, "Fuck yeah. Let's hope he's there, 'cause my fist is just dying to meet his face." A sudden thought occurred to him, "Hold on a sec." He reached for his radio handset, "Car 38 to Dispatch, Dispatch, this is car 38."

"Go ahead, car 38."

"I need you to pull up my GPS location. I'm pulled off the road and about to head into the forest to investigate a lead on my case."

"Roger that, 38, I've got your location. You are currently 43 miles off the highway on Kingfisher road."

"If you don't hear from me within the next hour I need backup sent out here."

"Roger, 38."

"One more thing… can you get a message to Detective Michaels at St. Josephs?" He heard Seth mumble something to Roman and they erupted into laughter. Dean shot them his best glare.

"What's the message, 38?"

Dean paused, running over what he wanted to tell her. Something witty, something romantic… he drew a blank and sighed, "Just let her know I'll be stopping by as soon as I'm done here."

"Roger, 38."

He hung up the handset and climbed out of the car. "Let's go."

* * *

Mark Bearer's hands were shaking with rage by the time the police scanner went silent. His thoughts were a whirlwind of anger and incredulity. He had been fooled. Ambrose _knew_ where Glen was… he was going to find him. There was no hope now of beating the Detective to the cabin.

Mark rose from his seat, bellowing curses and destroying everything within his reach. He flipped the kitchen table, threw his chair across the room, and swept all the dishes off the counter. They hit the ground and exploded into tiny shards, crunching beneath his boots as he stomped about the kitchen. It was all over… there was nothing he could do now to stop them. They were going to take his little brother, and then they would come for him.

He forced himself to stop his tirade and think. He could make a run for it – live quietly off the grid somewhere… He had money, if he hurried he might be able to fly out of the country before they caught him. Another surge of rage swelled through him and he hit the wall in front of him, sending his fist crashing through the drywall. His knuckles dripped blood onto the floor when he put his hand back at his side, but he took no notice.

_Can you get a message to Detective Michaels at St. Josephs?_

His thoughts were dark as he played that sentence over and over inside his mind. Maybe he couldn't save Glen, maybe he couldn't even save himself, but he could get revenge. One final act of defiance… even if they killed him, or locked him away, it would all be worth it so long as he could make them suffer. He was going to wrap his hands around her pretty little neck and watch the light go out in her eyes.

With a bitter laugh he turned on his heel and fled the house.

* * *

It was still early afternoon, but the path that wound through the thick forest was dark and treacherous. The wind was whistling through the trees, heralding a coming storm and slowing their progress. Dean pushed through it, his face set in grim determination. Seth and Roman followed just behind him. They had already been walking for what felt like forever before they finally rounded a corner and the trees opened up before them.

It was too small to really call a clearing; just a tiny hole in the woods where the trees were sparse enough to allow a cabin. What first caught Dean's attention was a van, parked just at the edge of the path. Friendly looking green letters on the side proclaimed 'Bearer &amp; Sons Landscaping'. The logo was complete with painted flowers. An involuntary shudder ran through him that was not entirely to do with the cold wind.

He held up a hand and Roman and Seth stopped abruptly. "Stay in the trees, and walk the perimeter around the cabin. Reigns, you go left. Rollins, to the right. If you catch site of Glen Bearer, do not engage, but come right back and tell me."

The nodded, and as they set off Dean stealthily approached the van. He checked underneath and in the cab, verifying that there was nobody inside before leaning against the back doors. Silently he slipped his gun from its holster and held it at the ready, waiting for his friends to return. It was only moments before Seth and Roman were back.

"I think I saw him," Seth whispered, "through a window on the right side. It looks like…" he paused, his eyebrows drawn closely together, "like he's talking to someone."

Dean nodded, motioning for them to watch his back as he turned to face the rear doors of the van. Behind him, Roman and Seth pulled their guns out. As quietly as he could, he eased one of the doors open and peeked inside. What he saw was chilling.

Spilled across the floor in the roof of the van was sticky green weed killer. In direct contrast to the fluorescent green was a dark splatter of dried blood on the white walls. His eyes fell upon a coil of plastic cable, the kind used in a weed whacker. It was almost completely unraveled. Pieces of the puzzle began to fit themselves together in his mind. He could now see, all too clearly, that he had found the murder weapon. He had wound the cable around their throats and pulled it tight, strangling them effortlessly without slicing their skin open.

His blood was boiling through his veins, but he felt the strange calm he had come to associate with closing in on a suspect. It was like watching himself from far away, knowing exactly what he had to do. Without bothering to close the door on the van he slipped silently around it and began creeping toward the cabin door. After a moment he motioned for Seth and Roman to follow. Before he knew it he was standing right outside.

His ears were suddenly deafened to the noise of the wind and the forest, and from within the cabin he could clearly hear someone speaking - muttering something in a mad, excitable cadence. The words were impossible to make out. He pressed his ear closer to the door and the next noise he heard was like a shock straight to the heart. A small, muffled whimper.

Almost without thought he signaled for his friends to stand on either side of the door. He took a quick step back and in the same instant that he clicked the safety back on his gun he raised his boot and kicked the door open. The occupant of the cabin whirled to face him even as he aimed his gun directly at the man's heart.

Dean noticed several things simultaneously about Glen Bearer. He was a big man, barrel chested and muscular, but he held no weapon. One of his eyes was black and the other was a wild looking albino blue. Both eyes were locked on him with a gaze of intense fury. Fixed onto his face was a sadistic smile. Most jarring of all, however, was that cowering in a corner of the cabin, bound and crying, was a young girl.

The moment Glen locked eyes with Dean he charged, bellowing with rage. With cool precision Dean dropped the aim of his gun and fired a bullet through the man's thigh. He howled in pain and stumbled, dropping to his knees directly at Dean's feet. One of the big man's hands went to his injured leg, and blood gushed in torrents through his splayed fingers. The other hand lashed out and grabbed a fistful of Dean's shirt, dragging him down with surprising strength. "Kill me!" he screamed, his voice hoarse with a pain that went much deeper than the gunshot wound. Suddenly Roman was there, wrenching Glen's arms back and securing him. Seth darted around the three of them and went to the girl in the corner.

Dean's breath was ragged, "Glen Bearer, you are under arrest for the murder of two children."

He renewed his struggles, and it was taking all of Roman's strength to stop him from pulling free. "KILL ME!" he roared again, the tendons in his neck bulging as he fought to get free. Somehow Roman managed to get a hold of his handcuffs and he slapped them on the wounded man. Immediately Glen sagged, his energy evaporating. He began mumbling under his breath, reciting his words like a mantra, "My name is Kane, not Glen, Kane, not Glen, Kane, not Glen, Kane, not Glen…" He seemed unable to stop, his words having an almost sing-song quality to them.

Dean pushed himself back to his feet and glared down at the sorry creature before him. "You have the right to remain silent." He began, and as he read him his Miranda rights Glen Bearer continued to shake his head from side to side, chanting feverishly. Seth, meanwhile, had unbound the girl in the corner and had his hands gently on her shoulders while she shook and cried. Dean noticed that, despite everything, she didn't look too roughed up. Hopefully she hadn't yet been subject to the same tortures the other victims had gone through before they died.

As the adrenaline in his veins began to wane, the noise of the world appeared to rush back all at once. He could hear sirens in the distance, and dimly he realized that it couldn't have been an hour yet. Hunter must have found out where he had gone and sent backup immediately. Dean felt a rush of gratitude as he slowly leaned against the cabin wall. As the first cruisers pulled in behind Kane's van Roman hustled the handcuffed man out, half supporting his weight as he limped heavily on his bad leg. It would be too late to call for an ambulance, of course… he'd get to the hospital faster if they raced him there in a squad car.

Thoughts of the hospital turned his mind immediately to Maggie. He remembered that he'd promised to come see her when he was done. She deserved to know that they had caught the monster at last.

As Dean stepped out of the cabin he took a few deep breaths, willing his nerves to settle down. He flipped open his cell phone, but of course it had no reception. When he glanced up he watched Rollins carry the rescued girl to one of the police cruisers. Unbidden, a smile flitted across his lips. A life had been saved tonight. His thoughts danced back to Maggie… he still wanted to know her story. Hell, what he really wanted was to kiss her until there was no sadness left in her beautiful eyes.

Fuck the fact that she's his partner. Fuck the fact that relationships tended to scare the piss out of him. To be able to touch her, to make her laugh, to hold her when he went to sleep at night. He shook his head rapidly, realizing that he was getting way ahead of himself. Besides, there was still some unfinished business to be taken care of. Mark Bearer had played a role in these crimes as well. Dean's instincts screamed that he was just as evil as his brother. With Glen in custody, they had enough to arrest him for withholding evidence _at least_…

He opened the door to the closest cruiser and hopped inside. One of the officers whirled as if to protest, but upon seeing who he was the man merely shuffled away. Sometimes Dean was grateful for his reputation.

"Dispatch, this is Ambrose." He was too tired to bother trying to figure out what car he had hopped in.

"Go ahead, Ambrose."

"I'm on my way back now, but I'm stopping by the hospital first. Get a message to the Chief that we have arrested Glen Bearer and his brother needs to be taken into custody _ASAP._"

"Roger that, Ambrose."

He let the handset slip from his grasp and leaned his head back against the headrest. The rush of solving a case was almost impossible to describe. First the adrenaline high, and then a warm wave of something like euphoria. His senses were sharp, his thoughts were clear, and the world seemed a much simpler place than it had an hour ago. With a tired groan he pulled himself out of the cruiser and began the walk back to his own car.

He couldn't wait to see Maggie.

* * *

Maggie was going stir crazy already, and it was only her first day in the hospital. She wanted to be working on her case, but Hunter wouldn't even give her the slightest bit of new information. He said she needed to _heal_ first. With a sigh she set aside the Sudoku book she had been killing time with and stared at the ceiling. She wondered how much longer it would be before Dean stopped by. She smiled to herself, blushing at the thought of how happy just getting a message from him had made her.

She began counting the cracks in the ceiling to distract her mind. Oddly enough, being stabbed had made her feel more alive than she could have imagined. Maggie was thinking more clearly than she had been in weeks. She wanted to get back to work, to solve her case… and she wanted to talk to Dean. After everything they had been through, she owed him the truth.

Suddenly there was a brief knock at her door before a smiling older nurse stuck her head in. "Feel up to a visitor, honey?"

Maggie grinned and sat up, quickly trying to finger comb her hair. "You can send him in, thanks."

The nurse nodded and walked away, and moments later the door opened.

She didn't even have time to scream before he had clapped his big hand over her mouth. "From now on, you and I are going to be _very_ close, sweetheart." He whispered, his breath hot on her ear, "You can call me Undertaker."

* * *

A/N: Whew, that chapter was exhausting! I hope you enjoyed it! Please, please leave me a review and let me know what you think, I love all of you!

Also I apologize for any weird grammar mistakes there may be in here. I was in a hurry to put it up so I haven't read back over it yet.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Three Bullets

Maggie froze, her thoughts lost in a whirlwind of confusion and terror. Mark Bearer kept one callused hand firmly clamped on her mouth and leaned over her, using his forearm to hold her shoulders down. His grin was wicked and desperate. The pressure of his weight on her upper body amplified the burning pain in her chest, and for a moment the sickening sensation of helplessness washed over her… but just for a moment.

She was not a child any longer, and she'd be damned before she let anyone make her feel that way again. Terror overtaken by fury, she steeled her nerves and forced her pain the back of her mind. In her current state, she was going to have to be _very _smart. With all the strength she could muster she brought her knee up, hard, and managed to hit him solidly in the ribs. It was not enough to do damage, but it did take him by surprise and he loosened his grip. Taking advantage of that, she sunk her teeth fiercely down into his hand. The taste of blood filled her mouth.

Immediately he yanked his hand back and cursed, and she took the opportunity to scream as loudly as she could. The effort of using her lungs like that made her vision darken for an instant, but she pushed through the pain. Powered solely by adrenaline, she pulled one of her arms free and hit him as hard as she could in the face, sending him staggering back a step. Dimly she registered that the action had yanked the IV needle from her arm, which immediately began spurting blood.

Unfortunately her wild strike barely fazed him. He laughed, putting his bleeding hand to his face and regarding her with contempt. Knowing she had precious little time before the pain overwhelmed her and she could no longer fight back she scrambled backward on the bed and kicked out at him to try and create some more distance. In an action so fast it was almost a blur he caught her leg and grinned. He yanked her by her ankle out of the bed and she tumbled to the floor. The back of her head bounced off the linoleum and she saw stars, her muscles going instantly limp.

Her vision was foggy and so she felt, rather than saw, as he lifted her easily from the floor and held her in front of him, her back pressed firmly against him as he wrapped his arm around and tucked it under her chin. The other arm reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun, which he pressed firmly against her temple. He was so much taller than her that his hold left her standing on her tip toes. Just like that, the fight was over. She became aware of the warmth of fresh blood soaking her bandages and she knew that her stitches had torn.

"Nice try, Detective. I appreciate the struggle." He spoke lowly into her ear, his stubble scraping against her cheek. "I knew you'd make this fun." She shivered as he stuck his tongue out and licked her jawline.

Suddenly the door to the room opened and a nurse stepped inside. Her expression changed rapidly from concern to horror when she saw what was going on. She made a tiny whimper of shock as Mark raised his gun and aimed it at her. He tightened his hold on Maggie, compressing her windpipe just enough to keep her immobile.

Terrified, the nurse froze in place as the door swung softly shut behind her.

"I'm going to need you to be very fucking quiet and sit your ass in the corner, _now." _Mark hissed. Tears were falling freely down the nurse's face as she rapidly obeyed. "Good. Anybody else coming to investigate? And tell me the truth, because if one more nurse pokes her head in through that door I'm going to shoot you in the fucking face."

The nurse whimpered again and shook her head fervently from side to side.

Mark nodded, appearing to accept her answer. He left his gun trained on the nurse but turned his face back to Maggie, "This is what your scream bought you, bitch. If I have to kill Nurse Nosey over there it will be all your fault."

The nurse began sobbing raggedly, but quietened up at a swift glare from Mark.

"Now," he spoke again to the nurse, his voice casual, "here's what's going to happen. In a few minutes Detective Ambrose is going to walk through that door, and if you've been nice and quiet I'm going to let you go."

She nodded, her eyes wide with hope.

Maggie groaned as pain throbbed in her head and her chest. Her right arm hung uselessly at her side, dripping blood from the crook of her elbow where the IV had been torn out. She raised her left hand to pull feebly at his arm, trying to create a little more room to breathe. He chuckled at her before turning back to the nurse. "I've got a job for you, honey. Since my hands are rather occupied at the moment-" he waved the gun menacingly, "-I need you to pull the roll of duct tape from my coat pocket."

Slowly she rose, her legs wobbling underneath her as she hesitantly stepped forward. As she reached for his coat pocket her tears began pouring with renewed vigor. It seemed to take forever before she withdrew her shaking hand, clutching the roll of duct tape he had requested. All the while he kept his gun pointed between her eyes.

"Very good," his voice was low and seductive, his lips stretched into a manic smile, "If you wouldn't mind wrapping some around her arm, I don't particularly want my prey to bleed out before I get to enjoy our time together."

The nurse let out another hoarse sob but she did as he asked, wrapping the duct tape several times around Maggie's gory elbow.

"Again," Mark spoke, "This time wrap it around her pretty mouth." He tightened his hold, constricting her windpipe completely for a few moments when she attempted to struggle. The nurse's eyes were full of fright and sympathy as she complied, wrapping tape completely around Maggie's head, over her mouth and around the back of her hair. "Much better." He said with satisfaction. Then he gestured with his gun for the nurse to return to her corner. She dropped the duct tape and scurried backward, shrinking fearfully against the wall.

Maggie was dizzy from blood loss, but she fought to remain alert. If she could just gather her strength again… Her stomach twisted painfully at the thought that Dean was going to walk right into a trap. If Mark got his way, none of them would be walking out of this room. Somehow, she had to stop that from happening.

Suddenly the gun was pressed against her temple again and the arm that had been clenched around her throat was withdrawn. Maggie shivered, her skin crawling with revulsion as Mark's hand first stroked almost tenderly across her neck, then tightened into a chokehold. His thumb dug painfully into her windpipe, bruising the flesh that was still sore from surgery. She was close to losing consciousness when he finally relaxed his grip. Hungrily she gulped in air, trying not to focus on the pain in her lungs. It was beginning to hurt less, and she wondered if she was going into shock from blood loss.

Oh so slowly he moved his hand again, brushing it over her collarbones before dipping down inside her hospital gown to fondle her chest. She froze and couldn't help but whimper, her mind racing to think of a way out of this situation. If only she were taller, she would smash her skull into his nose. If only she were faster, she would attempt to disarm him. But standing here, bloodied and weak with a gun held against her head, she was nearly worthless. A tear of frustration slipped slowly down her face.

There was only one thing she could think of to do. It might result in her immediate death, but perhaps the sacrifice would at least save Dean. She would have to take her captor by surprise and make a run for it. Undoubtedly he would shoot her before she could reach the door, but the gunshot would immediately alarm everyone outside and the police would be called. If she was _very_ lucky, perhaps she would survive the bullet. She was in a hospital, after all.

Maggie took a deep breath through her nose, pain blooming in her lungs. The room was spinning but it didn't matter. All she had to do was run forward as fast as she could. She tensed her muscles and prepared herself for the likelihood that these would be her last moments.

Unfortunately she took too long. Before she could bolt from Mark's grasp, she watched in horror as the handle on the door twisted. She renewed her struggles with vigor, wishing she could cry out a warning, wishing she could do _anything_ to prevent the door from opening.

Mark laughed at her and withdrew his hand from her gown, wrapping his arm again around her neck and lifting her until her toes no longer touched the ground. She hung there limply as the door opened, every last nerve in her body hoping that somehow, miraculously, it wouldn't be Dean. Of course it was.

* * *

Dean had raced straight to the hospital, still feeling high from taking down Glen Bearer. He couldn't wait to share the triumph with Maggie. She had just as much claim to the victory as he did. Confidently he walked through the hospital doors, waving dismissively at the receptionist because he knew where he was going. He had spent the entire night in her room and wouldn't have left her at all if it hadn't been for the urgency of their case.

He took the stairs two at a time, and before he knew it his long strides had taken him all the way to her room. Dean paused just a moment to push his hair out of his eyes before opening the door. He could never have been prepared for what was going on inside.

Maggie, pale and splattered with blood like the star of her own horror film, held at gunpoint in the tight grip of Mark Bearer. Immediately he felt the blood drain from his face and he hovered in the doorway. Protocol would say make a run for it, call for backup, get the hospital in lockdown. Without a doubt, following protocol would mean Maggie's death. It took him half a second to decide protocol could go fuck itself, and he walked into the room. His brain picked up and filed away details about the situation automatically. There was a nurse cowering in the corner of the room, glancing rapidly between him and Mark. A roll of duct tape lay on the floor, having been used to cover Maggie's mouth and bind a wound on her elbow. The safety was off on the gun already, and it was held flush against her temple. As he walked into the room Mark grinned.

"Can I go?" It was just a squeaky whisper, but Mark's gaze shifted to the nurse when she spoke. He spared her barely a flicker of a glance before his eyes were back on Dean.

"Get out." He grumbled, "And tell everyone outside that if that door opens again, if anyone so much as touches the handle, I will shoot both detectives."

Without wasting an instant the nurse nodded and fled, and when the door shut behind her the room was utterly silent. Maggie's face was turning purple from lack of oxygen, and Dean's hands twitched with restraint. His blue eyes were dark with fury, but he had to be careful. All it would take was one misstep and Mark would pull the trigger.

"Put her down." His voice was a low growl as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

To his great surprise, Mark lowered Maggie until she could stand on her own feet. Immediately her eyes closed in relief and she was breathing rapidly through her nose. "There. I've done something for you, Detective. Now you can do something for me." His cold gaze lingered almost lovingly on Maggie's tortured face before he snapped his eyes back to Dean. "Put your gun on the ground – slower than you've ever done anything in your life – and kick it toward me. If I think you're going to try anything I promise you she will die."

Dean nodded and reached slowly to pull his gun from its holster. He set it gently on the floor and stood up straight before kicking it to the other end of the room. Mark nodded, his smile growing somehow more diabolical. From the hallway Dean could hear the sounds of panic as the hospital went into lockdown. With any luck backup was already on its way. Hopefully with a sniper to put a bullet in the back of Mark Bearer's head.

All thoughts of rescue left Dean's mind as Mark slowly relaxed the arm around Maggie's neck. He snaked his hand across her chest before running his fingers through her long hair and brushing it over her shoulder. Dean was tense with rage.

"So it seems you're quite fond of your partner, Detective Ambrose." Mark kissed the top of her head and Maggie visibly shuddered, "Are you two sleeping together?"

A muscle in Dean's jaw was twitching uncontrollably but he forced himself to remain calm.

Mark laughed as his hand slipped down into her hospital gown. "I'm guessing not. That's such a shame, Detective, because you'll never have another chance." Underneath the gown he did something that made Maggie flinch, but she was fighting to keep her expression steady. Dean's self-control was stretched to the limit, but he knew that the slightest action on his part would make Mark pull the trigger. It was what he was waiting for.

"Hmmm…" Mark said, "Maybe I'm wrong." He spoke into Maggie's ear, "I guess he really doesn't care about you, sweetheart."

Maggie mumbled something incoherent but vicious sounding through the duct tape and Mark let out a bellowing laugh.

"Just stop." Dean's voice was rough, "Fucking let her go and quit playing games."

Mark pulled his hand out from the top of the hospital gown, but just as Dean relaxed he slipped his hand around and through the opening in the back. "You have such nice tits, Detective." He breathed in her ear, eying Dean, "Let's see what else you have that's nice..."

* * *

She was ok, she was holding it together. Maggie kept her mind carefully blank as Mark's hands roamed her body. There had to be some way to make it out of this alive. As he slipped his hand in through the back of her gown she felt her stomach flip flop with nausea but she forced that sensation away. Yet it was becoming more difficult as he ran his hand over her hip, her waist, her stomach, and then he began to slide his hand lower – and Maggie snapped.

What happened next happened very quickly. In one smooth, thoughtless motion she let her knees buckle and lunged for the ground. Instantly Mark pulled the trigger, but the bullet soared over her head. Dean didn't need to be told that this was his only opportunity. Mark let out a cry of anger and began to aim the gun at him just as he rushed forward to tackle him to the ground. The gun went off once more just as Dean collided with him and they fell to the floor with such impact that it knocked the pistol from Mark's hand.

She was limp on the floor, every muscle weak with pain and exhaustion. They were fighting each other now with reckless abandon. Her eyelids were heavy and she could feel her will to remain conscious slipping away. But something was wrong… Dean seemed to have the upper hand, landing his fists with furious speed over Mark's face, but his energy seemed to be waning and he was deathly pale. Her eyes went wide with shock as a crimson stain began coloring the right sleeve of his shirt. He had been shot. Mark appeared to notice as well, because with a fierce grin he aimed his best punch directly at the wound and Dean recoiled, grunting in pain.

Maggie forced herself to move as Mark lunged after him, wrapping his hands around Dean's throat and squeezing. She dragged herself forward on her forearms, ignoring her pain, unaware of the trail of blood she was leaving behind from her torn stitches. She reached one shaky hand out and seized the gun closest to her… Dean's gun. Had her mouth not been taped up she would have been panting with the effort. As it was her vision was murky and her head was pounding as she tried to pull enough oxygen through her nose.

The next few moments passed by in excruciating slowness. Maggie raised the gun, trying to will her hands to remain steady. Dean's face was turning an awful shade of purple and despite his best efforts he could not loosen Mark's grip on his neck. Maggie's hand was slick with blood as she leveled it, but her grip was tense. She tried to clear her mind even as her vision blurred everything in front of her into a mass of dark shapes. Unbidden, the image of her birth father rose in her mind.

She remembered him kneeling on Hunter's lawn, his eyes feverish and wild. She remembered aiming her gun at his head with cold precision. She could feel herself there, tired but alert, her hand steady and her aim true.

Maggie pulled the trigger.

Mark bearer screamed and clutched at his chest, falling to the ground and writhing in agony. Dean gulped in hungry breaths of air and locked his gaze on hers. She saw with relief that his eyes were bright with shock and concern, but not pain. He rolled onto his front and crawled towards her. Maggie let the gun slip from her tense grip and it clattered to the floor. Mark was no longer screaming, his body completely still. Whether he was dead or merely unconscious, she couldn't care less.

Suddenly Dean was there, drawing her toward him and cradling her gently in his lap. She found the strength to smile up at him.

"Mags…" he mumbled, his voice hoarse, "Mags, it's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." He rested his hand on her cheek and she could feel his warmth. "DOCTOR!" he shouted at the door, but made no move to leave her, "DOCTOR, GODAMMIT!"

Her mind was foggy, and though she tried to form words to speak to him she found she could not. Instead she raised her bloodied hand and put it over his. He laced his fingers with hers and she slipped into darkness.

* * *

When she awoke she was in a new room, her entire body consumed with barely numbed pain. Sunlight shined brilliantly through the window and stung her eyes. She blinked rapidly as her vision adjusted, and when her eyes fell upon Dean she felt the warmth of relief flood her. The pain suddenly seemed less important and she smiled brightly. "Hey," she rasped, and coughed to clear her throat. It hurt, but it felt worth it. "Dean, I-" she coughed again.

"Shhh, Mags." He smiled, pulling his chair closer to her bed. His hair was slicked back today, but it looked like he hadn't shaved in a while. His right arm was thickly bandaged, and her eyes fell on it with concern. Dean laughed, "Leave it to you to be worried about me when I thought you were lying on your death bed." He flexed the arm, "It's fine. Doc had me cleaned up in no time. You, though… Fuck, Mags, you've been out for so long. I was-" his voice broke, and he seized both of her hands in his, "I was worried."

She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks and squeezed his hands. "M'okay." She mumbled, trying to put some strength into her voice. "Did I… Is Mark Bearer…?" It was barely a whisper, but he nodded his understanding.

"Mark Bearer is dead. I still can't believe you were such a good shot, even torn up like you are and bleeding all over the floor." He shook his head. "Mark is dead, Glen was arrested. Case closed." His expression darkened, "They found over a dozen bodies buried in the woods beyond their property. Catching them saved countless lives."

Maggie nodded gratefully. It was all over at last. This had been unlike any case she had ever worked before… and seeing it through to the finish had nearly killed her. She didn't know whether it was the narcotics talking, but what she said next came bubbling up without thought, "When I'm out of here I'm going to cook you dinner."

Dean grinned, "I'd like that." He suddenly grew serious, "I'm checking the yard before I let you get out of the car, though."

Maggie, as best as she could in her present condition, laughed, "Good idea."

"Mags, I-" he dropped his eyes and squeezed her hands, "You're the best partner I've ever had, you know. And, well, I don't want to fuck that up or anything." He brought his blue eyes back up to meet her own, and the look in them was enough to send shockwaves throughout her body. Momentarily her pain was the furthest thing from her mind. He opened his mouth again but couldn't seem to find the right words.

Instead he leaned down, painstakingly slow, and brushed his lips lightly over hers. It felt as if sparks were flying between them, and she craved more contact. Thinking he might need encouragement, she leaned into him and deepened the kiss. As they moved their lips together she was conscious of nothing but him… his scent, the heat of his body, the exquisite way that the slightest touch from him flooded her senses. He grazed his teeth gently over her lower lip and she opened her mouth, their tongues twining together like they had always been meant to do so.

Milliseconds passed like hours, and before she knew it she had to break away to take a deep breath. It hurt, but she was too high on passion to care. He raised one of his hands and cupped her cheek, his eyes dark with emotion. She placed her hand on top of his and leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she savored the sensation.

"Mags," his voice was husky and sent another shiver of desire through her. Even her toes were tingling. "I don't really know how to say this, but," he paused, his thumb stroking lightly over her cheekbone. She met his intense gaze with her own, "I want you to be mine."

She smiled softly, thinking of everything they had been through together. In such a short time, they had formed a bond that was indescribable. "Dean," she began, relishing the sound of his name on her lips, "I already am."

* * *

A/N: And it's done! I am so happy with this story, and even more ecstatic that I actually finished it! There will possibly be a sequel, I haven't quite decided yet. If you read through to the end please leave me a review! It really means so, so much to me!


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